What it must feel like to be Yotam Ottolenghi. Author of two likeable, innovative cook books; Owner of a string of likeable, innovative takeaway/café/restaurants, and the custodian of a weekly vegetarian column in Guardian. And women just love his food. There is something extremely likeable about the brand Yotam has created for himself. It’s like everything you imagined organic food – healthy, delicious and expensive – to be. There are four Ottolenghis’ dotted around London, and quite a startling 15 years or so it has been for the native Israeli philosophy major. In 1998, he who had come to Cordon Bleu in London to study food before going on to solidify his pastry experience in The Capital, The Kensington Place group (with Rowley Leigh) and then become head pastry man at Baker and Spice (which I believe is somehow tied to the origin of Gail’s). Eventually in 2002, he opened his first Ottolenghi and the rest is history, as they say. It has been a poster-child kind of success story, therefore the recent opening of his latest venture, Nopi (for North of Picaddily (circus)) is expected to be a high profile – amongst the obsessive gluttons – production that should have industry onlookers salivating with undulated respect. On the surface, Nopi looks like the latest and greatest Soho-based, egalitarian and super hip all-day diner, though this could not be further
Camden doesn’t lack restaurants in number, it’s just most aren’t worth the detour. But things are changing. On the surface, one wouldn’t think this bar-café located at a gig venue – serving the purpose of tanking up visitors before any given performance – should suffer the unfortunate scrutiny of a blogger’s dour thoughts. However, after reading the Guy’s glowing review, which had cast the Roundhouse’s little known cafe as the most excellent over-performing underdog, I booked a table for a weekend lunch on Open Table. Off I trotted, on the route 31 toward Camden town. As I entered the semi elliptical room, that followed the contours of the Roundhouse, I couldn’t shake the feeling as if I had walked into a university café, a waiting room ambiance, a departure lounge. At first, I was puzzled with how short the menu seemed. Baked eggs, spicy tomato with yoghurt. Pancakes with blueberry, American style with maple syrup. Grilled banana and chocolate bread. Fried egg, sweet spiced chickpeas, labneh, pangrattato and coriander. Not that it didn’t sound good, but I was actually after the creative, extended small plates menu. Which was not available for lunch over weekends. Can’t say I wasn’t a little bummed. I had my eye on such beautifully described dishes such as the Jerusalem artichokes, walnut and gorgonzola agresto, slow-roasted tomatoes. Lamb, prune and walnut koftas, pearl barley tabbouleh and
We are in the middle of the coldest snap known to mankind. It has decidedly grounded many of us – including the restaurant going republic, in fear that the tipple monster might never lead us home again. Thank the goodens for the dude who invented the neighbourhood cafe, because this means we can venture on nature’s locomotion to fill our tummies without resorting to the perils of mechanical transport
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