I’ve been to the Boundary Estate before, and this was during one of the many illuminating photowalks with Garson Byer, he who makes striking portraits of those he encounters on the streets. Particularly around this part of East London, where enough of the historic architecture are still standing, for Mr Byer to weave a retelling as we walk around them. Previous to the Boundary Estate’s existence, were the notorious Old Nichol slum that had become so saturated with poverty, crime and death (one in four children wouldn’t make it past their 1st birthday) that even Victorian era policemen dare not thread these parts. It would become the inspiration for the account of a child’s life in a slum, thinly veiled in the Arthur Morrison book ‘A Child of the Jago‘.

Around the turn of the century, the slums were replaced by the Boundary Estate – literally built on top of it – which is known to have regenerated the area with new residents, but it also meant that it pushed the former slummers out further East, in turn creating more slums. Back in the Boundary Estate, a band stand was erected and stood in the middle of a round garden which came to be known as Arnold Circus, and the children went to Rochelle School.

Today, Arnold Circus and the surrounding flats are listed buildings, the bandstand being looked after by a group known as The Friends of Arnold Circus. As for Rochelle School, it has become a thriving centre for creative minds. The old classrooms have become studios for production agencies, photographers, artists and designers as spaces to work and to exhibit.

You’ll need to buzz for the Canteen from the Boys entrance, as you approach the circus from Club Row… you’ll know what I mean when you get there, it is a blue door.

One of the Rochelle residents are caterers Arnold & Henderson – Nose to Tail Eating
, the latter is perhaps a name synonymous with Nose to Tail cooking, and rightly so, since Melanie Arnold and Margot Henderson are wives to Jon Spiteri and Fergus Henderson, both who went off to open St John.

The quirky BYO canteen only serves lunch on weekdays, regulars are mostly the creative minds who buzz about the collective space inside Rochelle, but it is also open to the public. As one would expect, the cooking is St John-esque in all its reticent glory, with decor kept to its barest possible, after all, the space was once a bike shed. Half of it, is the rather well equipped kitchen, and the other half are long tables. Bread is supplied from Bread & Wine.

You’ll be in for a change with the clientele, consisting of people who build very pretty things for a living; the conversational chatter will be interesting to say the least. It was one of few places in London, where diners didn’t bat an eyelid with my camera out, and I felt I wasn’t judged like something from a Garry Winogrand zoo.

This is the first solo meal I’ve had in 2010.

Like St John, the menu at Rochelle is updated daily on their website, with basic descriptions of whatever they’ve got stewing.

Deep Fried Cod Cheeks & Tartare Sauce £7.50

Capers, pickles and a dash of lemon juice made for a wonderful, and simple condiment to the fleshy cod cheeks – delicious as one expected them to be.

Braised Mutton, Turnips & Barley , £12.

The turnips and barley soup was sweet, almost too sweet, while the mutton could have fell off the bone a little easier. But for lunch in a bike shed masquerading as a mess, this was adequate, peppery and just ripe for the slippery autumn.

I drank a bottle of ginger beer and lapped up the remainder of soup with the familiar St John sour dough.

Plum Tart & Crème Fraiche, £4.50

The tart was cold and dry, but the ice cream was rather nice.

The bill amounted to £25 sans service, so I paid £27.50, and all in all, a nice little escape from reality. It’s not difficult to see why regulars would use this as their daily spot for an affordable and entirely edible lunch, if a little unremarkable in presentation. But who cares, when you just want grub and coffee and not have other diners bother you as you try to finish the crossword puzzle from the morning paper. Do make sure you call ahead to make a reservation, if you are considering Rochelle for lunch, as it does tend to get quite busy. Personally, I prefer St John Bread & Wine, both are similar, in spirit. A five minute bus ride into Shoreditch from Liverpool Street.

The Gist of It

Rochelle Canteen
Mon – Fri Lunch only.
British, £25pp
Rochelle School Arnold Circus E2 7ES
Tel: 020 7729 5677
Tube: Liverpool St Station

Art: The Silver Spoon ; The Independent ; Time Out London ; Fay ; Hunt Haggarty , Tom Eats Jen Cooks

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How can you not enjoy reading about Fergus Henderson. His books, Nose to Tail Eating, and the companion follow-up Beyond NTT, I gather, have become necessary volumes in the canon of British cooking. I haven’t read the 2nd one, and I would love for him to autograph a copy for me. Yes, it’s geeky, but in the world of a lowly restaurant blogger, chefs are the rockstars. Fergus brings out the best in hacks, they pen his story with fire and gusto, respecting his electric presence, his boldness toward his craft, his battle with Parkinson’s and extol his significance to the jingoism that exists amongst those who observe the landscape of food in this country (or should I say, in this city) , professionally and by those who are simply enthusiasts. I particular enjoy this piece, this one, this (defunct) blog dedicated to him called ‘Being Fergus Henderson’ and the numerous love letters Master Rayner has written to St John over the years.

Ubiquity has transformed the capital’s dining scene of course, since St John’s opening in ’94 and then most recently, a well-deserved tribute of his contributions to the ascendancy of British food (in this country) with the awarding of a star by the Bib in 2009. At times, I view it as a kind of movement you know, other times I think Fergus is British cuisine, in its contemporary sense anyway. The reticent approach to food seems as legitimate a genre to take up as any of the many schools of molecular gastronomy. Game and offal and proud British chefs champion Henderson’s practice of restraint description and unbridled extremity. The Nose to Tail concept of boldly cooking what others wouldnt dare, is very nearly common place now, in any restaurant that dares to call itself British.

Yet nothing from the new stables quite excites nor courageous enough to go to the extremes with the same audacity as the original shrine has done. At least that is my humble opinion. Not to say that the derivatives do not produce delicious food, they do, but where else would you see roast squirrels on a restaurant menu? Don’t answer that, its rhetorical. Though to be honest, I’ve always thought that St John’s main courses were always too racy for return visits, particularly with its elevated status as an institution at the moment – there’s only so much boldness one can take on, during one sitting.

Enter St John Bread & Wine. Even more pare-down than the original, approaching a caffe, with even less contrast and clutter and equipped with a bakery that makes fresh bread for both St Johns. The reigned-in aesthetics are well in line with Fergus’ approach to cooking, with even whiter walls, is imbued with a harmonious beauty about it. Like the food, the natural details are allowed to permeate through your senses. Like the electric cables that run the length of the ceiling for instance, neatly bunched together; The omnipresent exhaust fan in the unwalled kitchen, the short wine glasses and varnished wooden furnishings, with echoes of clicking heels, the melodious chatter of satisfied diners, the klang and klang of clashing cutlery and down to the racks of well arranged wine bottles. My eyes zig and zag around the room, patiently studying the details, which I’m convinced is not by accident. Fergus was trained to be an architect after all, and I’m sure the simplicity was completely by design.

B&W opens for breakfast at 9am, moves to an Elevenses offering and from midday, dinner are a selection of manageable half portions, with fuller portions rolled out at 1pm. The menu is updated daily on their website.

The better half and I slinked in for a Friday pig-out at 1.30pm. We ordered two glasses from the Frenchly wine list – a glass of house red (a Cabernet-Syrah blend) for a fiver, and a Pinot from the ‘Free Country’ of Burgundy for £6.90.

Mussels and sea purslane, £8.90.

A broth tinged with sensitive tenderness; Flavours of leeks, spring onion and a depth of sweetness that lingered on and on. I was well aware that this was the most basic of dishes from the deep, but with mussels this fresh, less is the exact treatment it requires.

Cauliflower soup with Snails, £5.70.

Yes, oh father in heaven, kiss the ground, what a fantastic dish. The soup was gooey, whipped, as pearlescent as the paintjob and with the essence of a thousand cauliflowers sacrificed for this very bowl. Textured like baby food or more exactly, nestum, however it were the rubbery, lemony and well seasoned snails that had me swooning and cooing and feeling in love. Cauliflower and snails, not an obvious marriage, but that’s why SJBW is genius.

Blood cake and Duck Egg, £6.90.

This would be one of Henderson’s long time signature dishes, and my god is it brilliant.

But first, we must breach the yolk.

That yolk makes all the difference – it enlivened the pudding, distracting from the bloodiness as it were. As for the cake itself, simply glorious, I was most impressed that there was no sticky pastiness to it, it was smooth all the way through, pudgy and almost like a moist brownie. Indeed it was a savoury cake. The flossy bits of pork and pork fat were nothing short of ethereal. It tasted more like pan-fried hash than pan-fried blood, very well seasoned, and just very good. I could easily have had two of these and I’m no fan of black pudding, then again, no blood cake tastes quite like this one.

Purple Sprouting Broccoli Vinaigrette, £5.70.

Even the fibrous and green were good. Wet and watery, soft and juicy with a touch of mustard – simple and brilliant.

Middlewhite faggot with swede mash, £6.70.

I was surprised with this one, because I didn’t like it. It was the most offal of the dishes we ordered, but perhaps that’s why I didn’t like it. The stench of cooked fat from pigs floated across my nose. It reminded me of dumplings stuffed with a little too much fat, other unknowns and not enough shrimp, in Dim Sum restaurants.

Cepes & Sorrel on Toast… erm, free.

Perhaps it was my incessant twittering during the course of the meal (as I tend to do these days) , as our meal drew into its final act, our gracious hostess brought over a dish we didn’t order. “Because we know who you are” she said, proceeding to explain the provenance of the ‘shrooms and sorrel. Well of course I enjoyed it. We joked afterward that perhaps I should I have responded with “Ken Hom?”.

Smoked Herring £6.10.

Deeply salted herring, gently smoky, which was nice, by now we were both full to the very brim. My note taking had waned, and we were feeling utterly satisfied.

Greengage and cobnut crumble with vanilla custard, £5.90.

But there is always room for pudding. I recalled how my meal at St John last year ended on a very high note, and I was pleased with this zingy crumble that made use of a lesser known (at least to me) plum. The real star of the pudding was the custard however, completely out of this world. The better half is rather critical of milky concoctions, basically she hates milky things. After accidentally spilling some of the amazing custard on her spoonful of crumble, she lit up and quite literally drank the last drops of it straight from the jug it was served in.

Half a dozen of the Madeleines, £3.70.

Over a double espresso, we sat back to enjoy the rest of the afternoon, the sunshine and admire how well designed this ultimately egalitarian, utilitarian and efficient this caffe was at ensuring its customers are well-fed, satisfied and contemplating returning for more. And I think that’s the point, one could easy return, because the food is so democratic, any time of the day or night or afternoon because everything is so very easy to eat.

I mean, just look at this.

That uniform – same at SJ as well – the lamps, the weird greenish lights in the kitchen behind him, the chalk boards, the low hanging coat hangers – this is how you blend complexity into the background and move gullible bloggers like me into writing overly long essays such as this. The final bill came to £61.70 sans service. What fantastic value, for all the food we had, and we did overeat. I empty all the shillings in my pocket.

What did you expect? With a restaurant owner whose reputation carries as much gravity as it does, you knew I was always going to breach the unholy word limit. And so I rightly should, because I think St John and Bread and Wine and the eventual Hotel (to open in Soho later this year) are at the heart of what’s great about the London dining scene, today.

In some way, I think B&W might be even better than the original, the menu is less challenging than at St John, the atmosphere is a breeze and one can sit there all afternoon without needing to worry about table turning, or watch neighbouring food adventurers extolling their skill of having eaten the gastronomic world.

The emphasis on provenance and use of ingredients dazzle in a much understated fashion, very British and antithesis to the rest of Europe. It doesn’t try to be anything other than what it is cooking. The restaurants, very simply, deliver the goods. Humorous, a little eccentric, exacting, militant, the true paragon of Great British Cooking.

And if you can pick through the rubble of my bull shit, you’ll see that I am basically saying that I love it.

My visit to St John in June 2009 here.

The Gist of It

St John Bread & Wine
Fergus Henderson Cuisine, £20pp
94-96 Commercial Street E1 6LZ
Tel: 020 7251 0848
Tube: Liverpool St Station

Front to Back: Jay ; Time Out London ; Grumbling Gourmet ; London Stuff ; An American in London ; Douglas ; Adrian Anthony

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I must confess, I feel pressure writing up my visit to L’Anima, because as you know, Francesco Mazzei’s Soul in the city is the gastronomic darling which has had critics, blogs and people who are generally interested in food, cooing in unison. As the consummate restaurant collector living in London, a dinner (or perhaps two or three) at L’Anima is a coveted experience which I couldn’t miss. An occasion presented itself, and the visit became necessary.

Mazzei’s shrine has received much press over the 2 years or so since it opened. Formerly at Corbin & King’s St Alban, the charismatic Italian has carved a name for himself as a culinary god in this city, his restaurant is a must-try for all intents and purposes, and I don’t believe there is a food magazine in the UK which has not already profiled the chef. More recently, Mazzei featured heavily in William Sitwell’s TV show which dissected the chase for Michelin stardom. Of course, with the reputation and praise Francesco has received from the press so far, L’Anima was probably one amongst the new boys to anticipate macarons. Unfortunately, the Michelin man did not come knocking when it revised the guide in January.

And so it was the better half’s turn to celebrate her birthday, we wanted to visit somewhere intriguing, special and memorable, the choice itself was simple enough. L’Anima had just only just emerged to reopen after the summer slumber, and the Southern Italian theme – Sicilan and Calabrian – , the soulful, the emotive cooking that won the hearts of so many, was apt for the occasion.

The setting is imposing yet subdued; a reflection of the refined yet rustic style of cooking L’Anima offers. The long gaze skywards to the dizzying ceiling warrants a silent gasp. The room is a very large rectangular shoe box, massive glass panels shield diners from reality outside. On the other side, the kichen is insulated by an impenetrable rock wall, with slits of glass that offer an interrupted glimpse into the inner workings of the kitchen, the heart & soul of Mazzei’s operation. I wonder if the intention is for the diner to be in zen and in awe while dining at L’Anima, for all the splendour of such a grand setting, being placed in the middle of the room, is intimidating, and unsettling, not helped with those spotlights glaring at you. I lock my fingers, rest my fists on the table, making sure my elbows do not touch the linens. I’m not here to slay a King, and Kang is on his best behaviour.

The mystique and mystery was sullen by its enormity. So we looked across the room for pockets of seclusion and noticed the far corner which hid a few tables that offered a more private setting. The candle lights didn’t seemed to be drowned by the spotlights. So I called our gracious waiter over, and the problem with such a stuffy setting, is that once you sit, it’s as if one is nailed to the seat, but he handled it slickly, breaking up the awkward tension with a smile and bouyed us to the new table, swiftly. “No problem!” he bellowed, and off we went. Ah…. much better. Away from the heady lights, this is more like it, much more soulful.

We drank a bottle of Forchir ‘Soresere’ (Over the evening), a white Sauvignon (£29.50), from an All-Italian wine list.

Cavatelli with homemade sausages £9.00

I opted to start with eggless pasta, which I assumed was made from semolina and flour, and the immediacy of the namesake rushed to my head. Soulful. The spongy texture was reminiscent of gnocchi, but this was less punchy and less stodgy, the broccoli, warming, and lending a prairie-like fragrance, the sausages provided seasoning, and the chorizo (I forget its proper name) was mountainous. Most of all, the dish was unrelentingly reticent, it flirted with the palate and tugged at the heart strings, rewiring the brain and inviting me to evoke memories of grassy fields.

Baccalà stuffed courgette flower £13.50

Over on the other side, the birthday girl tucked away a beautiful deep-fried zucchini (As they say down under) flower, stuffed with salt cod, mellow, mushy, and soft like a tempur pillow. The cold sweet sauce, with just a touch of roast, was excellent.

Fish stew with Sardinian fregola £24.50

Oh..I think there’s saffron in this soup, so hearty and heaty and I suddenly recalled a scene from that Italian film in which Tilda Swinton plays a Russian wife who becomes besotted with a younger man’s cooking and then his oeuvre of talent. I am Love. If memory served, she was tucking away a seemingly innocent salad, with prawns, and the movie moved into a surrealistic dream-state of euphoria, ecstasy and orgasmica. The vivid colours amplifying her utter enjoyment of the dish. The romance, the sexual connotations, the contrived coolness, and all the swirling pleasure, a woman’s mind can conjure up, it makes you want to make love to this serendipitous sort of food. Bellissimo Francesco.

Roast vegetables, £4.50.

I just wanted to show the bowl roast vegetables that we ordered on the side. I seem to recall seeing pictures of a wood fire oven in his kitchen once, and so was intrigued with what it could do. It works.

Aged Black Scotch Beef Tagliata, Marrow bone, Ovinsardo & Magliocco Sauce £33.00

That cheese, oh that cheese. Ovinsardo. What a brilliant little fucker. The gorgeous stink of stilton, the strength of ten gorgonzolas, the hardness of a well-aged parmesan. On its own, the beef was bland but tender (which is why I assumed it was a fillet) , but with that superb Sardinian cheese, it became ethereal. As a steak lover, I feel that the elusive blue cheese notes, are the flavours which best compliments beef, and I felt this was very well illustrated in this dish. It didn’t stop there of course, I lashed on sauce, the truffled mash and the marrow. The result was one of pure gluttony, completely sinful and decadent. As I dug out the remainder of the mash from the hollowed bone, I was slightly disappointed Mazzei had decided to mess with mother nature. It seemed as though he hated the idea of marrow on his dish, opting for but a measly penny sized dollop of it on the side. I failed to finish the mash, it absorbed so much of the fantastic juice and sucked all the wonderful flavour that it actually made the dish quite so boring. As I finished, I just kept thinking about how much better this could have been. Personally, I would have preferred a whole roasted marrow, as I feel that it would have added flavour, in my humble opinion, but perhaps my ideas are a little too chophouse, and too bourgeois? So I finished my main course, feeling ambivalent. Kudos and criticism.

Liquourice zabayon with coffee & star anise ice cream £7.50.

Finally , dessert, but with a touch – the kitchen had inscribed a birthday wish on the plate in chocolate. We appreciated that. Airy, eggy, milky and infused with coffee, the star anise accented ice cream just prickling the palate. Seductive and alluring. Exquisite and accomplished. I’d always assumed sabayon to be French, but I suppose it is also a firm classic in Italian cuisine. Wary of its notorious reputation for liberal pricing, I was quaking in my boots as the bill landed. £136.69. To my surprise, the damage wasn’t that bad, I’d seen worse. I gleefully handed over my credit card.

L’Anima is enigmatic. The sum of its constituent parts make for an enticing package and the product, the entire L’Anima experience is simply fabulous. Even the name suggests a deeper movement, is sexy, fascinating and it feels glamorous. It has the sort of majestic atmosphere which is pretty on paper, a little daunting in reality, but in totality, makes for a proposition that is difficult to refuse.

I must mention service, which I thought was impeccable. We didn’t feel pressured, they were not overly attentive, at times they oozed a lazy cool quality, and it was in keeping with the beat of the L’Anima drums.

But the problem is not in its setting; whilst I felt that L’Anima ticked a lot of the right boxes, the pricing is just scary. Especially when the likes Zucca, Trullo and (the Mazzei involved) Bella Vista – the aggressively priced Italian inspired eatery – has graced London. If food should command such prices, it better damn well be the miracle of Sardinia, otherwise it will seem a little deflated. And I think that’s where L’Anima falls short a little, a victim of its utterly magnificent brand, and what a brand Mazzei has created with himself as its poster boy. It is good, great at times, but not god like. But then again, what is Italian cuisine, if not for its brilliant simplicity. If it were just even slightly cheaper, £29 instead of the £33, that slender change in bottomline would have gone a long way in terms of a psychological barrier in my perspective as a diner. But because, the essence of the cooking is one of such restraint – dare I say ordinary (actually, let’s use the word rustic) – it seems at odds with the price point L’Anima is competing in.

In the end, I was impressed with the meal, but I expected a little more. Nevertheless, this is an intriguing restaurant altogether, and I feel that one needs to step back to admire the magic at work here, because the constituent parts aren’t exactly out of the ordinary, but like a cog, it fits like clockwork. I think the stars will come, one of these days, I feel the Bib’s assessment is just, it is not quite there yet, but it is very close.

As an aside, I picked up Bill Eggleston’s Guide last weekend, a pioneer in colour photography as art (as opposed to black and white), this guy makes great pictures out of nothing at times, the democratic eye as he is known and I’ll make the parallel of Mazzei’s progression to Eggleston’s genius. Boring to some, disconcertingly beautiful to others, but something that needs to be experienced first hand, in order to satisfy the curiosity.

The Gist of It

L’Anima
Italian, £75pp
1 Snowden St Broadgate West EC2A 2DQ
Tel: (020) 7422 7000
Tube: Liverpool Street Station

Soul: Rayner , Helen WFG , Food Snob ; AAiL , Gastro1 , Douglas.

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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.

The idea behind Viet Grill and Cay Tre – sister restaurants both owned by Hieu Trung Bui – is simply to bring delicious (and authentic) Vietnamese cuisine to London. They’re not the only ones in the Shoreditch area hoping to do so, of course, with much of ‘Phở Mile’¹, the term coined by Bellaphon, vying for the same. Affectionately or otherwise, many have come to recognise the brillance of this wonderful strip of Vietnamese restaurants along Kingsland road. Personally I have limited knowledge of Vietnamese cuisine, being Chinese, I grapple on to equivalents when ‘translating’ the cuisine whenever I visit a Vietnamese restaurant, for better or worse. They eat rice, we eat rice. They share dishes, we share dishes. They have noodle soup, we have noodle soup. Chopsticks apply. I have colleagues who hail from Vietnam and their first choice is Song Que, the crowd favourite really,I loved it too on my visit. Unfathomable affordability and food was delish.

With Vietnamese cuisine being so accessible, it was only natural for people to be fascinated with it. Twitter is always alive with praise (and debate) of Vietnamese restaurants in London, not limited to Kingsland road of course, as the bloggerati claim phởveyors further afield such as Cafe East² in Surrey Quays.

Generally speaking, Londoners and especially bloggers like Viet Grill. Its popularity is also partly attributed to Mark Hix’s very public affirmations toward this restaurant. If a superstar chef regularly raves about it in his national food column, it can’t be half bad. Styled with a ‘French Colonial look’ of patterns of trees across the beige walls. It feels like a vacation inside, even more so with the sun beaming down on us right now.

Let’s cut to the chase then, Cha Ca La Vong, for two £10.

‘Cha ca’ means grilled fish, and this dish has its roots in Hanoi. The original place said to have popularised ‘Cha Ca La Vong’ is also the name of a restaurant in Hanoi³. I’m not sure how they serve it originally in Cha Ca La Vong in Hanoi (or Saigon for that matter), but at Viet Grill, I was pleasantly surprised when the waitress fired up a moveable gas cooker on our table.

“Slices of Monkfish marinated in galingale and saffron, grilled at your table and served with rice vermicelli, pimento, ground nuts, fennel and shrimp sauce.” …. yeah exciting fine print. Watching the gold coloured monk fish fillets sizzle away in front of us was hugely gratifying. As it heated up, a bevy of herby and grassy aromas accompanied, it was a great way to start a meal, with our senses fully engaged.

Such a visually arresting dish could taste as good as it looked. The range of ingredients was like a field of blooming roses (well…) on the palate. There was zestiness, not unlike mango, there were grass-like flavours, dare I say which reminded me of dill, nutty, saffron and pimento for a perfumed kick. I read elsewhere that a fresh water fish known as hemibagrus⁴ is the primary choice for this dish. For purists, a fish only available in Vietnam called Anh Vu⁵. Can’t say I’ve ever been to Vietnam, for what it’s worth however, I thought monkfish was a good substitute, necessarily flaky and all.

Saigon Sate Phở, £8.

We ordered the mandatory bowl of phở, this one in particular made “with tender beef poached in a full bodied chilli broth, smothered in Viet basil and smashed nuts”.

It was bloody full bodied alright, a big whack of chilli, like pouring a volcano down the throat. Also present were rich flavours of tomatoes. The soup was cloudy, so I assumed it was coconut cream that I was tasting, along with slices of mango. The better half thought it was great, especially the soup. About the the only thing I found wanting were the noodles, I thought they were a little too mushy.

Beef Vinh, £7.

This one was from the ‘Dishes we like most’ part of the menu, with a smiley face next to it. Rolled beef fillets, seared over charcoal and stuffed with what appears to be it’s own fat. I really liked this. It came with a nectarous ginger paste on the side, not unlike a ginger beer, perfect as a dipping. The beef itself was smoky, juicy and plump, I suppose with it being marinated with a number of spices unknown to me, the seasoning helped to add depth to savoury and beefy flavours.

Vietnamese durian and Tapioca Cake, £5.

Pudding was lovely, I didn’t detect the fragrance (or stink) of durian in the tapioca cake, rather it carried a sugarcane starchiness, a gluey textured. It was served super hot which provided a lively contrast to the icy coconut ice cream which began to melt from the moment it was served. Simple, enjoyable.

Condensed milk is such a revelation isn’t it? We finished with two Vietnamese coffees, one hot, the other with ice, both with condensed milk. Along with a bowl of steamed rice and a glass of soya milk (freshly made), the bill was £47 for two. Hmm, a little more expensive than I expected, considering we only had four dishes. All in all however, we enjoyed Viet Grill, the cooking seemed able enough and food was delicious. Of course, the beauty of such a restaurant is hidden in the sheer depth of the menu. Campfire beef, sitting duck curry, slow-cooked Mekong catfish… the next time I go to Viet Grill, I’m bringing my extended family and ordering one of everything. All to share.

The Gist of It

Viet Grill
Vietnamese, £25pp
58 Kingsland Road E2 8DP
Tel: 020 7739 6686
Tube: Hoxton

Distilled from the digital ether Chris at Cheese and Biscuits ; Fay says ; Cara at Gourmet Chick ; Luiz at The London Foodie ; Mathilde at Mathilde’s Cuisine ; Tom at TomEatsJenCooks and Mark Hix’s passion...

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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.

Eight (baat) is phonetically similar to fortune (faat) or “about to hit the motherload” more like and is significant if you’re Chinese¹. Chinese being a culture which has an insurmountable archive of superstitions and a belief system that links fortune to being fortunate. Lady luck is not a bad thing to have on your side, Rob Green could do with some. People will go to great lengths to associate themselves with the number 8. Like bidding for a mobile phone number, car license plate detail, the house number, the more 8′s and multiple 8′s – my brother’s mobile number ends with triple 8s – in one’s life, the more prosperous one’s life might turn out to be. So it is believed.

Imagine my delight when I saw the number 88 stamped across one of the giant red pillars outside My Old Place. It’s like winning the lottery, yes… just a number indeed, but if superstition was anything to go by, it would appear to be working. The modest restaurant has garnered gleeful reviews² online, the Guardian critics especially love it, but more than that, the layman raves about this place too. The word amongst the various social circles (Facebook mostly) is that My Old Place is one of London’s finest Szechuan restaurants, Taiwanese people in London especially love this place. Situated in the shadow of Liverpool Street station, it is the sister restaurant of Gourmet San³ and together are two of the foremost Szechuan restaurants in town seen as the substance to the stylised shell of more centrally located and faddish joints Bar Shu and Ba Shan to name a few.

As one would expect service is not dismissive, but neither is it warm, it is as it is, a contrast to the flamboyant decorations. Red fans, red lanterns, red posters with greetings of longevity, happiness, it’s like they didn’t bother taking down the ornaments from CNY celebrations. We were a table of four who had decided to pop-in for a pre-theatre numbing session before falling asleep at a Wigmore Hall recital…. they landed a Chinese menu, so I had to concede the ordering to the better half…

Clear noodles with sesame paste.

The creamy paste had flavours of peanut, sesame oil not dissimilar to a ‘satay’⁴ sauce, the mung-bean based clear noodles spongy and expectedly starchy while garlic and salt overloaded my tastebuds. Cucumber and spam (or luncheon meat…I think) also accompanied the mash-it-up, I actually quite liked the creamy, nutty paste with the noodles, but man was it salty.

Trotters….peppers….

Trotters were coated with copious amounts of tiny red pods⁵ that vaguely resemble mini rambutans. Initially, there was a tingling sensation on my palate, causing my buds to vibrate. The tingling then grew to a sting before a numbness finally settled, like micro tranquillising darts immobilising the tongue.

Before I lost my buds to the effects of hydroxy-alpha sanshool (only 3% in every pepper-pod…on average) though, I quite enjoyed the full-bodied flavours of the braised trotters, oily, fatty and deliciously savoury. My advice when you order this… scrape away the devilish mini-bombs before you start eating.

Tripe.

Oily, pungent, salty, gamey and with yet more Szechuan pepper pods. Probably the best dish of the meal. I have to say, I can take my fair share of spicy food, but this had me defeated. We opted for Cobras instead of Tigers, but downing cans of lager was barely enough to cut through the numbness.

Skewered beef tendon or Impaled offal-on-a-stick.

If memory serves, these were a pound each. We had ordered the popular lamb skewers too, but in light of all the food which had already landed, we decided to cancel the order. So offal lovers should enjoy this gruffness. It doesn’t get gamier than this, it literally tasted of rubbery fat and chilli…

Yellow chives with prawn and squid and dried beadcurd.

Not every dish was a rollercoaster ride however, this was where we got off for a breather. But it was entirely pedestrian, my notes say nothing about it, though I just wonder if it were because my tastebuds were still under the numbing effects of the pepper, seemingly the major theme of this meal.

Cumin beef.

The cumin certainly gave the beef an interesting aroma, akin to the fragrance of curry, but alas the quality of the beef itself was horrendous, that it was unchewable was an understatement. The sloppy stir-fry with what seemed like recycled lard was distasteful and utterly unappealing. The meal hit a low at this point.

Finally, Sour vegetables with fish fillet.

The sour vegetables ⁶ did little to mask the absolute dire pungency of the fish, it stank and that’s not a good sign.

We were amazed with the gargantuan portions, each dish averaged £7, but it was easily much more than we could manage. We didn’t finish any single dish and elected to take home all the leftovers, which we had to scoop into plastic containers ourselves. The leftovers lasted two days by the way. The final bill was £59 for four, £15 per person, though I thought we were ordered at least two dishes too many.

As we left the restaurant just before 7pm to make way to Wigmore Hall, we noticed how the restaurant was completely full up, mostly Chinese, and I couldn’t shake the sense that perhaps people come here more for quantity and passable quality, than for absolute finesse. Personally, I won’t be returning, too salty, way too much pepper, and questionable ingredients. I felt bloaty after the meal, having much difficulty sitting through the piano recital after, and a stirring guilt as if I had just stepped out from a greasy spoon. It leaves me to ponder about the oil they had used in their stir-fry. Nevertheless, My Old Place is cheap, abundant and abominably entertaining, if you’re looking to load up before a night-out, this might be the alternative to Tayyabs, but personally, I’m sticking with No.10⁷. It might not be a fancy number, but it is definitely easier on the tastebuds.

The Gist of It

My Old Place
£15pp Szechuan, Cash Only.
88 Middlesex Street E1 7EZ
Tel: 020 7247 2200
Tube: Aldgate East or Liverpool Street

News of the World: Clandestine Critic ; Trusted Places ; London Chow ; An American in London ; Mawi ; Matt Norman

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There are five restaurants inside the beast of a hotel that is Andaz. Situated right in the heart of the square mile, a part of town where I periodically get lost in. I did as I usually do to turn to my trusty GPS when I exited Liverpool Street station. This would be my third visit to the Hyatt owned hotel, based in a Victorian building dating back to the late 19th century. Once the Great Eastern Hotel back in the day. Red brick allegedly. It always takes me for a jog around the block before deciding to get serious. Machines. Just when you need them to do what they’re told, they do the hot stuff. Cast your mind back to the dizzy days of 2009 and you will recall I was invited to 1901 once upon a time. 1901 being the flagship out of the five restaurants within Andaz. I was even given a tour of the guts of a 19th century hotel, which is by far the funkiest part of the invite. All the rooms inside are somehow interconnected. Walls hide secret doors which open to neverland, and alternate universes. There are secret trap doors, dungeons and pleasure rooms. I’m obviously kidding about dungeons. Generally, I liked the food, though the grandiose space spooked me a little… anyway, the PR machine dropped me another invitation to try Catch, their seafood & bubbly bar. Oysters and Champagne you say? Hard to say no to.

As with all my invites, a disclaimer : The restaurant comped this meal, I didn’t pay for it.

Service was a little slow as the staff made us stand like nupties upon arrival. I counted two minutes before someone tended to us. There’s no formal reception, since the whole idea of the ‘new’ Andaz concept is to be chilled but yet maintain the sexy high production values. It’s abit like Daniel Craig playing James Bond, but we know that Sean Connery is underneath the blonde hair and muscles somewhere … “Pussy”. So they are largely successful with their concept. The space feels informal and chic, marble chic with baby blue walls. Tall ceilings give it an open feel. There is the hint of 19th century architecture remaining too. However, Andaz hotel being what it is, had clientèle whom were so well behaved and so well groomed, I could have mistaken them for mannequins. Luckily the staff were much livelier, and the chirpy service took away much of the stiffness – it’s progressive, though there is a general trend toward a more human approach to serving human beings in London. Generally speaking anyway.

As you have probably guessed, the ‘Catch of the day’ is both a plot device as well as the focus of the restaurant – a commitment toward fresh seafood. A giant fountain filled with shellfish serves as the main centrepiece in the room, and as a Chinese guy, sea salt quite literally courses through my veins, I’d like to think I know my fish, but feel free to dent my ego. I once remember paying a visit to a fishermen’s, er, warehose in Glasgow, feeling gobsmacked with not just the sheer quality of live catch, but more so with the depressed prices. Inflation clearly does not work in the same way it does down here. Unworldly scallops, muscular lobsters. So here’s the deal with the Catch of the day option : Whole fish, cooked to your preference, you know steamed, roasted, fried and then you get to choose from a selection of sauces. I was a little intrigued with their golden raisin & shrimp brown butter, which I don’t believe I sampled on this visit. Whole bream and lemon sole were the specials – both fish not to my liking, I skipped their daily catch.

Amuse Bouches was a pumpkin soup served like a cup of coffee. Brothy, stocky, peppery, watery, and I detected curry powder. I attempted to down the concoction, the flavours of pumpkin wasn’t quite coming through, and it was a tad too hot. I think there might even be celery in there, it has a kind of fibrous flavour which I intepret as watery. A little bit more cream perhaps.

Wine was in the form of a bottle of Alsatian Riesling, 2005 Rene mure. Characteristic of the Alsatian style and quite the contrast to German Riesling, this wine was very clean with a palate cleansing ability. A floral and peachy zest, but the best bit was an unusually strong acid hit which starts to sizzle right from the moment it hits the tongue – woah. The acidity continues all the down, very long finish. Brill, and hence worth a few sentences.

Starters, Crab bisque.

Aromatic shellfish check, thick and rich texture, uncheck. The soup is on the thinner side, but it managed to maintain a sharply distilled shellfish flavour. This is quite the subdued version of crab bisque. Personally, I prefer bigger aromas and a huge hit of seafood perhaps I am thinking more of a veloute than a bisque. But mellow did mean that it was much easier to finish. Not bad, but with only mere strands of crab in the latte-like broth… boring.

Next up : Wild octopus salad, shaved fennel and pepper salad

This I really liked, lively, slinky and citrusy octupus slices were so fresh, they could well be alive. The peppery fennel was also served with capers, rocket and parsley. A simple recipe, straightforward but well executed.

Of course, we had to get some oysters, Loch Fyne and Colchester natives, three of each… just a taster you know.

The natives were amazingly potent, fishy and I felt as if I was eating pearls from the sea. Just a feeling. Fantastically muddy and snotty, which in the case of oysters meant that they were delicious. The Loch Fynes, with shells sharp in shape are abit more on the neutral side, sea salty but alot more tame, more mineral. Oysters have such a unique flavour unlike any other food I know of, I could slurp a dozen easily, no three dozen. Where’s my wine.

We also ordered pickled crab with rillettes. Interesting stuff, large chunks of fresh crab compressed to a sort of tower form and seemingly soaked in a wasabi infused soya sauce. I tasted the sweetness of mirin, the moment it hit my palate. So this is what they did with all the juicy crab meat missing from the bisque. A seaweed and pickle salad accompany the forgettable pork rillettes. If I had to guess, then I would guess Pan-Asian, a touch of Japan. Well done.

Finally then on to the main event : Roast Monkfish with potted shrimp, curly kale.

The fish is juicy if just a tad overdone. Slicing it right down the middle into the bone, I noted it was cooked all the way through the entire thickness of the fish. I would prefer it to be slightly under, just slightly. The texture was chewy, erring toward the soggy side, as opposed to a springy bounce. I enjoyed the intriguing choice of garnish, lemon flavoured raisins, pine nuts and deeply seasoned potted shrimp. Curly kale is a good match to white fish, it has wonderful texture, with a tinge of bitterness, but it also has a great ability to soak up all the spewing fish juices. It’s a great ingredient, underused in my opinion. Same as samphire, another often underused but smashing ingredient.

On the side, a mushroom truffle mash – par excellence served with the fish. On the other side of the table was a pan-fried then baked bream. As per the monkfish, this was also a little over cooked and a little soggy. Both dishes are also under seasoned, which might be intentional. I get the feeling that the Chef – Stuart Lyall – prefers subtle flavours, I respect that. Natural flavour should be allowed to shine more often.

We finished our meal with a wintry warm pear crumble. A grainy pear sorbet accompanied the creamy vanilla custard, and it was a mellifluous ending to a meal that was equally so. I think if you like game, strong serious flavours finished with Anglo-French conventions, then 1901 is a good bet. But if you are after natural flavours, subdued and easy eating dishes then Catch is a better choice. Speaking generally, I think the Andaz restaurants provide good value for money, the standard of food is consistent, easy to understand and mostly delicious. Unless you are part of the fanatical foodie republic hunting for the next gimmick or spotting a trend, then I think you’ll do quite well with the relatively ‘safe’ dishes at Catch. As I alluded to earlier, it’s a seafood and champagne bar – the oysters are well sourced, which says it all really. I think it is only a matter of it’s puzzling location, not quite the foodie mile in Farringdon, nor the pseudo grungy environs of Brixton, not the glamour of Mayfair or even the rich diversity of Dalston Kingsland a mere stone’s throw away. It probably shares the same postcode as your workplace. The official website doesn’t list prices, but if memory serves me, the ala carte is in the region of about £40pp (£10/£18/£7), set menus are around £18. I suspect some of you already use Catch as fall back option for power lunches, expense account?

The Gist of It

Catch and Champagne Bar official site £45 pp
40 Liverpool Street EC2M 7QN
Tel : 020 7618 7200
Tube : Liverpool Street

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I was introduced to the marketing whiz kids at the Andaz hotel through an associate who was telling me about yet another larger than life pop-up restaurant project to hit the Capital – Bistrotheque setting up a Supersonic Masonic Supper club during London Restaurant Week in October to be exact. Of course, I missed that boat completely. Instead, I found myself taken on a tour of the luxury hotel (formerly the Great Eastern) based in the heart of the square mile, including the five dining establishments within the Andaz brand, and at the end of it, a handshake and an invitation to eat at 1901, which I decided to accept.

Yes, a disclaimer – I didn’t pay for this one.

1901 has always been on my eat-list. Some of my much loved restaurant-going idols (Douglas, Agirlhastoeat and Marina included) had written up favourable experiences at this restaurant, and so I really wanted to try it for myself. Part of the appeal of 1901, is also partly the reason why I have decided to avoid it for so long. For one, it’s location suggest more of a power lunch than all out celebration, and the place is perhaps a little too posh, too grand and too elegant for its own good.

“We want to strip it down, it’s elegant you know, but laid back.” was the message the Andaz suits were trying to drill into my little skull while on tour. I appreciated their progressive approach of trying to play down the grandeur, what with the ‘no reception’ lobby and going as far to quoting a guest (on their website) who described 1901 as “unpretentious luxury for when you are feeling decadent”. Getting jiggy with the kids then.

Our evening kicked off with a frothy mushroom soup as a mouth amuser. Oo, warm.

It would be an incredible shame if I didn’t touch on the impressive dining space which 1901 is. If you are as obsessed about high ceilings as I am, then you will be blown away by the magnificence of it all. Of course, all this jazz also meant that the room itself was quite a bit too posh for its own good, at times, it did feel abit much. Thankfully though, the attitude of the staff were a complete contrast to the occasion – everyone was relatively chilled out. A violinist wandered around the room as well, with a roving DJ going around the tables and essentially constructing a playlist from the guests.

I picked Muse, Morceeba and Gotan Project. Starters was Aberdeenshire tartare, celeriac with truffle mayonnaise, bone marrow on toast.

Not bad, not bad at all. The tartare itself was standard issue, well-chopped, well-seasoned and spreadable and something any Parisian could be proud of. However I was more impressed with the value-added extras accompanying this dish, in particular the mini marrow toasts which married up nicely.

Turning now to the menu, it places an emphasis on being British, and they punctuate their commitment toward local produce. Each course lists the region in which the main ingredient is sourced from, like my tartare being Scottish for instance.Smoked haddock is from Lincolnshire, and the duck is from suffolk etc.

The other starter we had was the shellfish platter from the Shetlands; with razor clam, mussels, deep fried langoustine and pickled seaweed.

… And accompanying the shellfish was a light yet creamy foam and what looked like grated nuts. Served on a cold slab, I was really impressed with this shellfish selection – everything tasted fresh enough that I could almost smell the sand, especially with those juicily fried langoustines.

At this point in the meal, the sommelier was kind enough to pour us a couple of tipples of superbly branded wine to savour. If memory served me right, one was a ’71 Rothschild – abit tired, abit of an old musky bird, but still so mineral and so soily and had now mellowed into a smooth character.

Righto, on to the main courses. Suffolk Pork, slow cooked rib eye, roast scallop, carrot puree, pickled cherries.

Served with mash potatoes on the side, the pork was mostly good, food was cooked to the T, and the sort of classic roast & tart flavour combo was balanced and executed well. The single roast scallop was a nice touch, it did not seem to gel with the tender and well seasoned pork, but it did taste good. Yeah overall, this wasn’t the most exciting dish on the planet, boring but well-cooked.

With one boring dish out of the way, the other main course had to be something a little racier, and I decided to tackle something which I was going to try for the first time : Grouse.

The basic premise of the dish was similar to that of the pork rib eye, roasted, abit of tart for sauce, sweet saurkrauts and roasted parsnips in the place of a mash. I didn’t really know what to expect of grouse, I’d seen the celeb chefs shooting and then skinning them and then singing praises about the gaminess of the meat, but that’s about as close as I got to grouse. Served very pink, the first bite… oh gosh, I couldn’t swallow it. The meat was so incredibly gamey, that there was smoke, fire and just a forest stink that erupted in my mouth. Wow – there is alot of mature flavour, but it was too much for me to bear. Perhaps my palate needed more training. I found myself downing the vintage Rothschild just so as to wash away the muscular grouse. I was disappointed that I could not conquer my first grouse, and gave up half-way to the overly livery (is there a word to describe this over-gaminess?) tastes which was amplified with every bite.

The prices at 1901 aren’t too horrible for its ceremony, a two course lunch could be had for £19, and a three course dinner hovering the £55 mark. Food was straightforward, classic and mostly executed with an understated flair; save for a choice of meat I had yet to tame, everything else was rather tasteful. We ended the evening with a creme brulee topped off with abit of fruit and ice cream, and walked away with a pleasant memory of the night. In my humble opinion, it was still abit too posh for a quiet dinner and I come away feeling that 1901 is a place more suited for business rather than pleasure. In a sense, it is well-positioned in terms of it’s location in Liverpool Street (I’m not taking a stab in the dark regarding their clientele) , but then again, you could just go to spend the evening with mostly good food, marvelling at the ceilings and come away with a neck worth straining for.

The Gist of It

1901, Andaz Hotel official website £60pp
40 Liverpool Street EC2M 7QN
Tel: +44 20 7961 1234
Tube: Liverpool St

PS: More photographs here.

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