I discovered a fact about you lot (which seems intuitive but something you never really think about) when I first sat down for this meal at Roganic, and that is nobody eats lunch at 12 pm on Saturdays. In fact, you don’t show up till about 1.30. Talk about being unfashionably early. I booked myself in for the high noon sitting, but was actually a quarter of an hour early anyway. I skipped breakfast you see, because Roganic is one of those restaurant premised upon a idyllic gastronomic journey as opposed to a bog standard meat and two veg. So for half of the meal, I had the entire front of house to myself, it felt the complete opposite of being lonely (as I was dining solo), the staff gave their sole (and first) patron (of the day) their undivided attention. Anyway, you should care about the opening of Roganic, because Roganic’s chef patron is none other than Simon Rogan. Michelin star holder and co-owner of the unashamedly high concept L’Enclume in the Lake District. The restaurant named after Rogan and which is also a play on ‘organic’ is to my best guessimations, a reflection of Rogan’s philosophy to grow and cook (most of) his own produce, alluding to a certain level of unrivalled excellence in the ingredients. Rogan himself does not run this kitchen, that honour belongs to one
The things people do to track down a good meal, this one in particular involves my first encounter with the Lucky Chip burger. As you know, summers are pretty up and down every year, we remember the odd day when the thermometer crosses the psychological 100F mark, but we tend to forget that mostly, it’s just very wet. So there we were, Mark with his gentlemenly brolly, and me with my … FT Weekend Magazine… (ironically, this weekend’s was the Food issue including a feature on the slow death of the Bib, and a short Heston interview) and soaked Marni blazer (sniffers) , we were traipsing up and down London fields to find this rather elusive, and well hidden Netil Market, and mindful that the mild drizzle – like a balloon slowly filling with water – was about to burst into a proper rainstorm. After a little tinkering with google maps, we circled onto Westgate Street as the entry point to Netil Market. So we found it eventually, quite modest, in a rather small car park, but as it had been raining all afternoon, it wasn’t a surprise to find the vendors packing up their stock to shield from it. The sight of the Lucky Chip van was modestly uneventful, and given the street food craze, it’s quite a change coming across an empty food truck with good internet gossip
Earlier this year I wrote about the largely underrated Nizuni in Charlotte Street. A Japanese restaurant, with a Korean accent in its cooking, it is owned by the same people who operate the crowd pleasing Koba, which is incidentally close by. So I returned for a quiet Friday night dinner to celebrate the coming weekend, and was largely impressed with the sushi, fairly priced, well portioned, not particularly groundbreaking, but the fish they use are of a reasonably high quality and the maki (sushi rolls) are fairly large. Salmon Skin Roll (£4.50) and Negi-Toro Roll (£5.50). Crispy salmon skin centre and juicy fatticilious chopped tuna belly. Rock and roll. Chu-Toro, (£3.50 each) and Chicken Gyozas (£4.70). Superb medium fat tuna belly, firm, yet fleshy, yet fatty, tender, fragrant and melt-in-the-mouth fantastic. One immediately wonders where they get their fish from. At times, I feel that a good chu-toro beats otoro for the balance of flavour, with the latter being too oily, too rich and generally too fatty for certain palates. I suppose it’s like choosing between a sirloin (better balance of texture + flavour) versus a ribeye (more fat, more sinews). On a rather serious note, I probably shouldn’t be supporting the over indulgence of tuna belly – in particular bluefin tuna – since this very act contributes to the overall decline of the humble species. On that topic,
When everyone including dear Ol’ Uncle B has visited this restaurant, that’s when you know the interwebs has taken to showering yet another crowd pleaser with its ever expanding vocabulary of praise words. “Wondrous”. “Decadent”. “Moorish”. “Decadent”. “Sinful”. “Ultimate comfort food”. Adjectives, which I too, am guilty of overusing. Cynicism aside, a restaurant that has collected as many reviews as it has since it’s April debut, must be doing something right. Somehow, I had managed to avoid the 50% discount circus, though the full asking price wasn’t too bad. To grease the wheels, we started with not one, but two plates (£1.50 each) of their excellent warm, crusty and soft sourdough (ironically, warm bread is abit of a rarity in London restaurants) served with some excellent artichoke puree, which i gather is, must be made in house. I ordered one of their fresh juices, the ‘invigorate’ of pineapple, apple, lime and strawberries. Sadly it was anything but invigorating… and note to self, never drink pineapple and strawberry juice from the same glass. Service was a little jumpy, but well intentioned, they had a tendency to take things away before we were done with them, like the wedge of pineapple, which I had initially wanted to savour when I finished my juice, for instance. Believe the hype, the decor is absolutely top class. Like the Tardis, it’s unimpressive on the outside,
I waited until the opportune moment presented itself, before making the visit to Marcus Wareing’s The Gilbert Scott. Or should I say The Renaissance Hotel’s flagship restaurant, seeing as to how Mr Wareing has rather desperately been detaching his name to the restaurant, at least so it seems. But today, I am in the right frame of mind, because I happen to be travelling from the Gateway to Europe to attend a wedding. Actually, I tell a lie, the wedding’s in Yorkshire, and the Grand Central trains leave from King’s Cross next door to St Pancras station. But let’s not take away from the romance of the rail travel. Ah yes, Macbook Pro fully charged, the latest issue of Monocle in hand, passing grazing sheep as the train zips into the countryside. The sheer cinema of travelling to truly appreciate the homage to the heritage of British life and style, to which The Gilbert Scott aspires to. As you already know, the newly restored Renaissance hotel took years of painstaking work to bring it back to life, the restaurant is named after its original architect, Sir Gilbert Scott. Problem is, rather than evoke a sense of past, the decor actually feels aged and musky. Not quite newly minted vintage. The brass seem a little muffled and requiring a new lick of polish. In fact, the dining room felt rather like
Remarkable. The standard of cooking is dastardly high, the artistry kept well in check, the flavours were – in my opinion – calibrated to run riot on your palate, that it made for a breathtaking dining experience. Service took an equally disciplined yet playful approach as the cooking, and so too was the decor; lime green and quite so basic, but refreshing and pressure-free. The only question I kept asking myself throughout the meal was “What’s the catch?”. Why is it so damn affordable. As I understand it, this modern restaurant offers their three course ala carte menu at a princely sum of £25 during lunch, and the same menu for £38 during dinner. Not that I’m complaining of course, but after a string of new openings (NOPI and Pollen St Social and even St John Hotel) that seem to indicate the return of the swinging binge-times, Medlar’s prices come as a welcomed surprise. You and I should pay attention to Medlar partly because of the pedigree behind the team. In the hotseat is one Joe Mercer Nairne, previous sous-chef at Chez Bruce and before that, The Savoy Grill. Managing front of house affairs, is the very charming David O’Connor whose CV involved running the teams at The Ledbury, The Square and also Chez Bruce (all of which are Nigel Platts-Martin restaurants) , where he and Joe first forged their
I don’t know the first thing about Iranian cuisine, but after my first visit to Kateh, I’ve become hooked on saffron rice. Oh man, it was so fluffy, so puffy, so billowy, so indescribably easy to eat, eating it was akin to a smooth glide like a magtrain levitating over nothing but thin air and supported by the pure magic of electromagnetism. And so the story begins, of how I fell in love with the fluff… …but first, let’s talk about the decor, and nestled deep within mews-like Warwick Place, I found the ground level dining space redolent of eating in somebody’s living room, converted into a theatre to show-off the owner’s passion in the kitchen. Yes, if you are at all familiar with pop-up, home restaurants and (not so) underground supper clubs, then Kateh certainly gives off the secure, homely, neighbourly vibe. “Prego, prego” He says. He being only the suavest man to wait on a table. I will try my best to describe his outfit. White, perfected pressed cotton trousers, taped together with an orange belt, blue and white pin striped oxford shirt, and thick black rectangular framed specs. Finally, gelled back, slick hair, all very colour coordinated and very GQ. Bon appetite, and when I grow up, I want to own a restaurant and serve my guests in exactly the same fashion. Chargrilled calamari, broadbeans £6.50.
UPDATE: Well now, this is news to me. 101 Pimlico Road is closing on the 28th of May, man that’s a loss to the trade, but here’s hoping Keith G’s next project will be more sustainable. The trick in choosing your next greatest meal is to find a restaurant which borrows its name from its address. For instance, 32 Great Queen Street at 32 Great Queen Street is brilliant, and by that estimation, so is 101 Pimlico Road. I’ve heard nice things about 101, though it’s one of those restaurants which I keep pushing down my list, but I am glad I finally made some time for this maiden visit. The restaurant decor is both woefully boring, and a successful exercise of restraint elegance. I like the blue theme, but the long and narrow room is a bit of a mind bender. Leading the hob is young Keith Goddard, and as I understand it (from Dino), Keith’s alma mater is The French Culinary Institute in NYC and formerly apprenticed with O’Sheas, Peyton’s restaurant at the Wallace Collection (which is a brilliant private collection of art) and with Mr Aikens. The theme of his restaurant is English, with a French accent, sashaying on to your plates, to the smokey tunes of Nina Simone grooving over the PA. Oh, so this is what Spring looks like in Belgravia. The ala carte is
Released to the wild in May 2011. Read version2 and version1. I love food blogs for the personality behind them, and for its ever-evolving nature. However keeping up with the frequent updates can be overwhelming for new readers who simply want a summary of the best recommendations. So I wrote this page down for their benefit, mainly places I love and would revisit. Think of this as a condensed version of all the critical moments in my discovery. No guide is ever definitive, and this one is far from it. It is alive and it will change as the landscape of food. I hope that you will find this a pleasant introduction to the world of London dining. The Scene. May 2011 Boy it’s been a while since my last update. That last time was in August 2010, and by gosh, so much has happened since. Which is probably the entire point of any guide, in that it is and should be as dynamic whatever flavour of the seasons are. I for one, am currently going through a routine weekend craving for steak burritos. This year, we’ve had a number of great openings, and many (if not all) of which are worth a pop. Some are on this list obviously. Lately, I’ve gone off the idea of collecting experiences that are in the Michelin guide, not to say that it’s
I have never know Queen’s Park in its old days of notoriety, and since uprooting from West London to this part of town; I’ve always felt the safely suburban leafy surroundings was an entirely nice neighborhood to live in. Kilburn is another story altogether however. I’d already written about the lovely Salusbury pub before, and if you follow my twitter feed, you’ll note the weekly oyster popping at the Sunday farmers market, but I have always been itching to put something together regarding the two Italian cafes in Queen’s Park, which are both highly recommended, if you happen to be in the area. Giorgio’s The first candidate is situated on the corner of Salusbury Road. It used to be the grocery bit of Salusbury, and about this time last year, it was rechristened as Giorgios, and redecorated into a lazy corner cafe which served food throughout the day. The pizzas, bolognese arancinis and cannolis are all pretty good, though on this trip, we had arrived for brunch. Swirly hot chocolate to get the day going.. … and a vegetarian fry up. Hmm, wasn’t quite so sure about those vegetarian sausages. However, these bad boys – French toast with streaky bacon and maple syrup – were the stuff. Finally this was a little concoction of mine. Ham, egg and melting cheese ‘breakfast sandwich’. I call it Le GBK. A truly awesome
I shan’t patronise you with a protracted preamble about the intertwined fate of how tapas became part of the culinary landscape of London (something which you no doubt are already well acquainted with), and simply get straight to the point: This is a rather perfect London tapas restaurant. Hardly anything else was expected, considering Simon Mullins and Sanja Morris-Mullins, the owners, are also the brilliant minders behind 2005′s Salt Yard and 2008′s Dehesa. Ah, I see. So we shall expect another superb Mullins tapas bar in say 2014. The decor is spell bindingly beautiful. Spread across two floors, in a once former 19th century built pub. All that dark wooden furniture cutting lovely shades of shadows around the food (and your dining partners), coupled with a contemporary, light-hearted approach to service, equals a formidable ambiance. Anyway, you can read about history elsewhere, let’s skip ahead to the food. Ibérico Pig’s Head Terrine £4.00 As the ingredient suggests, the terrine was gelatinous, unctuous, slippery and full of rich, salted pork goodiness. A champion terrine, no two ways about it. Jamón Ibérico de Bellota, aged 5 years, Castro y González, Castilla-Leon £14.95 Five years? Yowza, that’s old pork leg. I think three years usually qualifies for the top grade of gran reserva, so I assume the older the better. Well I could be wrong. Whatever the case, I am guessing we were
5000. How do you even track that? Did they fill up three, four, ten books of names, numbers and dates? It is an insurmountable number, consider someone hanging by the phone to take 5000 calls in a continuous 24 hours period, which works out as 3.5 calls per minute, which translates to a pretty exhaustive day’s work. Yes that’s how many of you and I crashed the lines the day Pollen Street Social started taking reservations, and the last time it happened was… probably when Heston started picking lucky diners for his Dinner outfit at Knightsbridge. Such is anticipation of Jason Atherton’s debut solo venture. Oh it’s a golden era of restaurant openings alright, we thought 2010 was a crazy year for brilliant new players, 2011 has thus far been bigger, better and ever so highly produced. Mr Atherton’s new joint aims to bring his previously groundbreaking concepts at Maze to an unfussable, shrine of a dining room that (conceptually) wants to bring the sexy to social dining. Jason has a cult-like following, he was afterall, considered by many (me) to be Ramsay’s greatest protege. Adding fuel to the fire, PSS opened just in time to host a dinner for the visiting superchefs who were in town to find out how they ranked in the World’s 50 best ceremony (how Iggys managed to not only maintain but improve their position
I really like Leather Lane over lunch hours, because it converts into an electric street market, overflowing with people. It’s like a crack in the universe peering into an alternate world, where Holborn is cool, eclectic, and entirely down with the kids. It is especially special to me, because it’s also home to a very awetastic permanent mobile food cart, which – in my opinion – serves one of the best steak burritos in London. Mucholy hot if you get the burrito with hot salsa. Yowza. Lunchtimes in Leather Lane can get very cramped, extremely bustly and chocked full of life. Topless construction workers woo at passerbirds, women haggling over pashminas, and whatever garments that catches their eye. Legend has it that the Leather Lane street market has nearly 100 years of history. On the topic of history, London was once the capital of coffee sniffing accompanied by a good dose of gentlemanly debate. Affectionately, these coffeehouses were called Penny Universities, as it only costed patrons a penny to enter – referring to the total egalitarian nature of its clientele – which meant anyone from whatever societal class were able to exchange minds on whatever issues they wished to talk about. Of course, not very long ago, the very concept resurfaced when Square Mile roasters decided to create a pop-up brew bar, calling it the Penny University last year.
Hello Meat, I’m back. It’s been six months since I was last here. And my information gathering has returned the following: John had left the Josper to pursue new charcoaled pasteurs in Swindon… and is possibly back at Maddox St… , Dave S is still the smooth operator, and Goodman Mayfair is still ever overbooked. It remains my favourite place to go for a steak dinner in the city, and I am very glad to say the Josper grilled, charcoalised, blood filled sensteaktions are still my paramour. Food wise, sex wise, I mean, you know what I mean. Please excuse the vulgarity, it’s meat afterall. As per usual, I always request for a bespoke cut of meat, on the bone, and have it served sliced, and to be shared. I have since come up with a formula to figure out how much each table requires: Firstly, to figure out the weight you should order, apply Kang’s Standard Equation of Meat: 150 + 200 x (n1) + 300 x (n2) + 400 x (n3) replace n1, n2, n3 with number of persons who fall in the categories according to the key below : Key: 150 – weight of bone, n1 – number of ladies on table, n2 – number of gentlemen, n3 – number of men with impossibly large guts. eg: if table of three contains 2 ladies and a large
The reception for the Robot franchise, has been lukewarm, to say the least. Blogs can’t seem to get excited about either Tiny or Giant. Nevertheless, I was still interested in visiting at least one of the two all day diners in town, mainly because they serve one of my childhood nostalgic puddings – the baked alaska. Oh I wet many a diaper watching a waiter set meringue on fire to the effervescence of evaporating alcohol, right by the table. The food is Italian-American, and two restaurants that specialises in signature balls. Meatballs that is. But I didn’t get in any of the full menu action, instead I was looking for a place to brunch, on a sunny Saturday morning. Tiny Robot is situated along Westbourne Grove, and it sits on the ground floor, on top of a members only Starland Social Club in the basement, which is owned by The Rushmore Group. Let me just start by saying that I really like the decor. The space is actually quite small, with diner-style motifs, such as the green leather seats, washed out green tiled walls, aged wooden floors, and retro patterned enamel table tops. It’s great, it’s really comfortable inside. Bring on the coffee. Rum & Vanilla milkshake, Filter coffee. Woah, the rum was pretty stiff! Nice. I initially asked for a cappuccino, but changed it out to just a brew,
Unless you have been living under the proverbial rock that requires abstination from evil things such as sex, alcohol and greasy chips, you would have otherwise heard about the gospel of The Meatwagon. Unfortunately, the wagon was stolen late last year, so in early 2011, Yianni Papoutsis – aka Blighty’s one true burger king – had reassigned his team at the first floor of a closed down pub, in New Cross Gate. The pub had offered its space, as it is in the middle of its refurbishment plans. Yianni’s intention is to be able to secure enough funds to get a new van to roll out for the summer. And thus, #MEATEASY was born. And it’s fucking brilliant. Very rough around the edges, but we don’t mind of course, because we love quirky and egalitarian, rage against the guerilla dives. Upon arrival, you are given a ticket, and then it’s a mad scramble to find a spare seat at the cramped space, as you study the menu scrawled across the wall. The first time I went was a Thursday night at 9, and we didn’t eat till 11. So we spent all our cash on the £7 cocktails and £3 beers. Rum swizzlers aplenty. But when the food arrived, oh my giddy Uncle Bob, it was certainly worth the long wait. As expected, the menu is not for vegetarians, their
When I think about spending big on meals, where multiple stars are involved, I think French, I think Japanese, I think miniscular gastronomy, water-bathed, raw and beetroot. Rarely does the thought of an expensive Italian meal ever cross my mind anymore these days. I put this down to the recent drive by like-minded restauranteurs in launching the lean and mean, baby River Cafes (and derivatives). As you are well aware, we’ve been loving the revolution in London-Italian dining, feeling the gastropubistro-fatigue. Come on admit it, you can’t get enough of a novel-thick grilled veal chop, dripping in wet bloody juice. Especially if it costs under £20. Yes, the Zuccas, Tinellos, Dock Kitchens, Bocca Di Lupos, Polpos, Tinellos and Trullos are good for Londoners. We have competed with one another in overbooking them to their fullest capacity, and we especially like the much slimmer bottomline, and delicious yet elegant recipes, built around fresh produce, which is the whole crust of Italian cuisine. At last, good Italian food has become democratic. Having said that, there is still a legacy of the old-world, grand but homely Italian restaurants, designated by (quite strictly) by region and the Michelin man, and the pre-crash prices. Give it a go, call L’Anima, or Locatelli or River Cafe or Murano, and then ring any of the above mentioned mid-priced super Italian cucinas. You are likely to secure a
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
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
You can almost expect Audrey Tautou to waltz through the front door of this cosy restaurant; hang her coat, and whip her beret onto the coat rack. With Piaf marching on in the background, your eyes follow her every move, as she sits herself down on the round corner table for two (except she’s by herself), briefly re-arrange the silverware, and as she settles to her comfort spot; she senses your longing gaze and looks up. At which point, you change focus and start making eyes with the French waitress, who is in the process of handing the menu to you. You hesitate to say merci, because you feel insecure with the language, but know that it might make the difference between a successful or failed connection. Anti-climatically, you end with a simple thank you. Ah the romance. Tucked away in the nether regions of Knightsbridge, an alley way connecting either side of Brompton road, is Knightsbridge Green, where a relatively new bistro, opened by a rather well-regarded chef, has made its home. The full name Chabrot Bistrot d’amis, for the friendly bistro, I believe quite aptly describes the cosy, comforting, Parisian ambiance. Particularly the Parisian bit. Thierry Laborde is the previously mentioned chef, who brings with him an all-star track record that includes time at heavyweight French restaurants namely Roux’s Le Gav and Ducasse’s Louis XV. And the atmosphere
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