Not strictly true of course. I had spent most of my university days shunning the junior common room as much as humanly possible. I lunched at the three neighbouring museum cafes in South Kensington on separate occasions, with much dismay. The food at National History is about as edible as the fossilised bones on display. In those days, the best lunch in South Kensington for a tenner was to be found in Harrods. I know, I know. Before you pass judgement on what a greedy little bastard of a skint undergrad I was, hear me out: For a tenner one could get chunky lobster, smothered in garlic mayonnaise, pocketed in floury pita bread. We are talking proper Knightsbridge quality juicily sweet lobster meat, mammoth portions enough to keep a skint undergrad full for at least half a day. Yes, that what a sandwich. Like the good old days, it has since been replaced with a more sterile crayfish pita. Cheaper and shoddier. In spite of this, I did spend more time at garden at V&A than I did wrestling tourists at Harrods. It probably had much to do with atmosphere.

The Wallace Collection – like many of the national museums – is beautifully kept, a charming slice of cultural history well maintained – One feels more erudite just standing amongst the works of art. The collection was once privately owned by Richard Seymour-Conway, the 4th Marquesses of Hertford, who left the collection and the house which contained it to his son, Sir Richard Wallace. The collection had remained in Hereford House ever since. It officially opened to the public in 1900, and since then, they continue to exhibit art from the 15th to 19th century, with a particularly large range of French works including paintings, porcelain, furniture and even armour. Speaking of which, there is a room where you get to don accurate replicas of armours, chain mail and helmets, which I found most interesting.

Toward the back of the building is where one will find the Wallace Restaurant. Inside what is known as the Sculpture Garden, a winning design, the roof made entirely of glass, the natural light supplying an organic aesthetic to the restaurant.

I really had to tilt my camera all the way back to try and capture the immensity of the room. I love atriums and high ceilings. I hold this strange view that open space extends the openness of the human mind. As if I am able to stretch out my imagination to fill the room. The restaurant is owned by Oliver Peyton, whom many of you should recognise from his appearances on Great British Menu. The consummate restaurateur also opened The National Dining Rooms at the National Gallery. In keeping with the theme of the collected works at the Wallace, this atrium restaurant serves up a bona fide French menu. Food on the whole is extensive. Firstly, there is a light weight cafe menu of terrines, rillettes and apple crumble pies. Additionally, there is breakfast in the form of eggs benedict, and as well, afternoon tea, your choice of Cornish or Parisian, but both choices are not cheap at £17.50 and £24.50 respectively.

I was most interested in the a la carte menu. As I said, largely French and of a brasserie style, starters include Truffle and cauliflower soup (£7); Smoked eel, ratte potato and truffle salad (£11) ; Steak tartare (£9). For mains, equally robust descriptions feature: Fricassee of black leg chicken, morels, peas and crème fraiche (£18); Roast darne of halibut with a spiced pumpkin puree and a pinenut and sage butter (19.50) ; Grilled coquille et st Jacques with Montpellier butter, shaved fennel and caper salad (£22). On paper at least, the food seemed to be in step with the opulence of the decor.

Starters : Classic Fish Soup (£7.50) and Salmon and Crab Tartare (£9.50)

Prior to this, I had sampled an excellent fish soup at the Wolseley, which in comparison was much superior to the Wallace rendition. The soup was thick and creamy, but I felt it was a little too much so that it drowned out flavour. I liked the cheese croutons, those were very good, but the fish soup felt restraint, there wasn’t the rustic punch of the distilled seafood intensity. The best fish soup I’ve tried in London is at Le Cafe Anglais. This one pales in comparison. On the other hand, I enjoyed the summery smoked salmon tartare with strands of crab floss adding seasoning. Well-oiled with a dash of citrus and walnuts for effect. Smoky, salty and fresh.

Mains: Duck leg confit, red cabbage, curly kale, pomme frites (£13.50)

I appreciated the fat chips, hand cut with remnants of skin left on, however it wasn’t floury enough on the inside, and it certainly wasn’t classic duck fat fried potatoes of a Parisian tradition. I felt that kale was a great choice, if underused and the datey saurkrauts were lovely. However, the duck itself was a minor failure. In place of a crispy crunch, the skin was moist, giving it a very heavy duck flavour that seemingly dominated the palate. It lacked seasoning, in place of beautiful duck fat flavours, there was a strange off-odour of the meat. Most disappointingly, the leg was tough as opposed to being soft and slithery, I also felt that for leg meat, it was a little dry. More seasoning was necessary. I was slightly confused with the distinct lack of a crispy exterior. It was as if, the chef had decided to neglect using duck fat altogether, which is key to this recipe of course. Basically, I felt that the confit was not oily enough. As for the sauce – I cannot even remember it.

Food was average at best, I hadn’t highlighted the long waiting times in between courses, my notes suggested 20 minute pauses for each of the dishes. I also felt that service was a little inattentive, but I suppose that could be forgiven for the heavenly decor, which seemingly puts everyone under the sunroof into a zombie like state. A latte and a pot of tea plus service amounted to £40. I tell you what though, it is an impressive room to be in and that alone is worth a visit. At the reception guests are greeted with stacks of all the major papers. Naturally, I picked the Sunday Times. I had one of the most enjoyable sessions reading the paper inside the Wallace restaurant. In fact, we sat in there for nearly two hours, busily scrambling for more reading material. Thankfully, I was carrying issue two of Fire & Knives in my Billingham. Food may have be stereotypical, but the space certainly wasn’t.

The Gist of It

The Wallace Restaurant Official Site
£30pp French
Hertford House Manchester Square W1U 3BN
Tel: 020 7563 9505
Tube: Bond Street
Reviews Elsewhere : Time Out London ; Love Food Love Drink ; Part Time Expat

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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

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Weather woes continue to ground my eating habits as the 2nd week of the New Year leads me to venture out to…only about as far my local pub. Not that it was a bad thing since I spend alot of time in the Prince Regent anyway. It was as if someone upstairs had decided that it was finally time to write about the my local pub.

Ahh so welcome, welcome to the great and grand Prince Regent. If you should ever walk past this imposing establishment do make sure you take a peek inside and if you spot a chinese guy twittering from his macbook, then you’ll know LondonEater.com is getting updated fairly soon. I have a love affair with vintage pub spaces that are suitably quiet enough to get a good day’s worth of writing done. As much as I like battering away in my blogger’s studio, my mind longs for more space, and frankly abit of humanly interaction. My romance began with an excellent hotel pub/restaurant while I was based out in Pembrokeshire, Wales (once upon a time) called the Old King’s Arms. Pembroke is a port town and the local restaurants serve up daily hauls of the freshest catch. The best grilled monkfish, warmly toasted pawn mar (a soft cheese, like a brie) , a proper Welsh breakfast (cockles and bacon) and even a crispily fried duck confit. If the Old King’s Arms was one part of the trendy London pub food culture – it would score very high marks. For about two months, I ate at the King’s arms every other day, sampling pretty much everything on the menu. That place just had something very human about it. I loved it because I felt connected to it… wow the snow has turned up my cornometer. Sadly though, I haven’t found a London equivalent which serves pub food quite to the same standard (note: I am due to visit Harwood Arms soon). I am however glad to have a pub (close to me) which has such a comfortable space.

Enter the Prince Regent, a 4 minute hop around the neighbourhood and is both pub & dining room, serving food throughout the day. I usually have breakfast here though the real reason I like hanging out here is because the breezy environment is conducive enough to get alot of ‘work’ done. The expansive bar area is abit like a London version of Central Perk. Very cosy wooden floors and huge leather sofas to sink into. Ahh….and the wifi is reasonably quick as well (food and fuel, in case you are wondering). Over the years, I have had pretty much everything on the menu, ranging from their rather watery (but edible) eggs benedict for breakfast, to their epically oversized fish and chips (ooh so good) – complete with proper dollops of mushy peas. Their cappuccinos aren’t roasty enough, but as it is my local, with such a beautiful space, it’s hard not to love it.

Anyway, so let’s get the ball rolling with the starter of Foie Gras and Chicken Liver pate with Red Onion Chutney (£6).

The pate was smooth like whipped air, however I was really disappointed with it being so bland – just a faintest hint of liver was picked up. The miserly crackles of sea salt annoying sprinkled on one corner of the pate suddenly seemed significant. I liked that the portion was suitably large , but it completely lacked oomph factor. The red onion chutney was forgettable. My major gripe with this dish however was their choice of bread. A single slice of toasted wholemeal bread cut into four strips is not fooling anyone. I can understand their need to dial up the ponce meter being that we were in Kensington but for heaven’s sake, can they not invest in some proper bread? A brioche perhaps, maybe a ciabatta, flame it or roast it if you wish, something, anything, I could walk to partridges next door (!) to grab a baguette for a pound, but to serve a single toast cut into four strips. Let the pigs fly won’t you. I could hardly spread the pate on the massacred bread.

Epic fail in my book.

Unfortunately, this gets worse and it pains me to report on the next dish: duck confit with lentil puree and a crispy bacon jus (£13).

Good news first : the lentil puree was good, starchy, hearty and something I would guess is healthier than a plain jane potato mash.

Now the bad news : Crispy bacon jus – utterly inedible, it had a very papery mouthfeel, I don’t know, tasting juices from pieces of dry bacon was like sipping on a lard and vinegar cocktail. The confit was very bland, I was salting it heavily. The skin was not crispy, it was soggy and sort of rubbery, and the meat was just dry and horribly overcooked. Duck and bacon just didn’t do work for me, really I am actually better off chewing on paper than this torrid example of duck confit.

I have to say, food didn’t used to be like this. It used to be rich, hearty, full of flavour, proper pub grub, instead of this aspiring poncy mess. There are lots of good pubs around serving wholesome grub and on their current form, The Prince Regent is merely average. You know, I’ll put this one down to a bad day in the kitchen, and as it was snowing outside, maybe their usual salt supplier didnt show up that day or something. Despite my cutting stance on the food, I still enjoy hanging out at The Prince Regent and as a long term customer, I would happily return, fearful that the chefs might poison my coffee after reading this, but hopeful that they will return to their former glory days once again.

You can view more photographs of the meal here.

The Gist of It

The Prince Regent Official Site £25pp
25 Gloucester Road SW7 4PL
Tel : 020 7589 090
Tube : Gloucester Road

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Fridays are always exciting for me, partly because the sun usually decides to come out to play, and also partly because I can put my work hat away come midday. We had planned to see the superspy movie of the decade based on dolphins, but hadn’t thought of lunch yet. That was until the enigmatic supercharz came to our rescue with Fay Maschler’s brilliant piece regarding the latest secret gastro project to hit the smoke.

Here’s what I know so far : Dock Kitchen was started up by Stevie Parle and Joseph Trivelli, the former, a River Cafe alumnus and the main man in the kitchen; the latter still currently at River Cafe. Not the average trendy living room restaurateur I suppose what with the pedigree. Dock Kitchen is a part of their moveable restaurant project which made its debut at The Dock exhibition for the London Design Festival. It has since evolved to become more of a permanent fixture at the Portebello dock, serving lunch on most days and special suppers on selected nights.

We had to buzz to get through to the gated property – a double storey glass encased building of slick lines and bold typography. All very uber artful to my non-designer trained eye. At the entrance, we were greeted by the open kitchen-cum-reception-cum-cake-table-top. The rest of the venue looks abit like a stripped down exhibition space with elemental aspects of bricks, metal and glass working oversized pumpkins as table decoration. It doesn’t really feel like a pop-up to be honest, but more like a stripped down cafe, very relaxing.

The menus are A4 inkjet prints – all very low key – finished with inventive copywriting skills. I was fooled into thinking the choice of ‘Aranciata’, fizzy orange was some sort of special mocktail, but no, its just a fizzy canned drink. Hmm, I’m oh so gullible. The food menu is short, sweet and to the point. Six dishes for the starters/main and five choices for puds. Between the three of us, we chose most of what’s available, except for the wild seabass over roast potatoes and white wine (for 2 at £30).

First dish: Dhal with tomatoes and curry leaves, mustard leaves and chappati bread (£6.5)

Ah, I probably should mention that the menu reads like the chef’s greatest hits from around the world – kind of refreshing. So we poked the dhal paste but the feedback was cold and blobby like mud. We had to send it back to warm and melt, but what came back wasn’t really much better. The mushy paste was missing flavour in spite of it carrying abit of a spiciness. The fine grain texture while good was uninteresting. The chappati bread tasted like undercooked flour, just forgettable and the entire dish felt lethargic to me. C’mon, we’re a nation which knows our dhal well and it’s not suppose to taste like this. Next.

Next: Dorset Crab on Buttery Toast £10, we ordered two… how can you not order two crabs on toast.

Now we’re talking. The crabs were fresh, flossy, juicy and tasted of the sea. I was pulling bits of shell out from the crab – like the chef’s way of saying fresh produce, hand made, yeah. Layered on top of tenderly moisten fennels and a fat slice of bread with a chunk of butter on top, I could eat three of these. I gobbled one, and watched the girls finish the rest, with envy.

Mains: Rabbit biryani – Farmed French rabbit slow cooked with tomato and ginger with cardamom Himalayan basmati rice £15.

Oh yes. This was another winner. The dish was very fragrant, a mellow spiciness – like the gastronomical equivalent of fresh laundry. The rice was amazingly fluffy, cotton-like, and just the slightest touch of spice hitting the back of my throat. The dollop of crème fraiche created an appetizing citrusy contrast to the dish, this was another which I could eat again and again. The rabbit tasted like chicken to me, although some bits were liver-like, mildly seasoned, simple comfort food beautifully cooked.

Finally: Two small red mullet roasted with tomatoes and wild fennel leaves with Florence fennel slowly cooked with olive oil and garlic (£16).

And the umami monster strikes again. The fish are beautifully presented, very smart in the way they kind of sit up on the plate hugging a cluster of roast vegetables. Fresh & flaky, the fishiness was expertly masked with the juices from the roasts. This rustic combo was very comforting and it was like being invited to try out new recipes at the home of a successful chef who cooks for the pure unadulterated love of food.

I know a lot of chefs who would relish the chance to work on these sorts of personal projects. Not have to worry about the bottom line but to simply cook to their heart’s content. A very positive experience. Not the cheapest lunch but not entirely expensive either. Not the largest of servings, but not paltry. Most of all, food was delish and the stripped down nature was a welcomed change to unnecessary grandeur. Dock kitchen gracefully carried out their minimalist approach. It is a wonderful venue and I think London needs more of these type of cafés/brasseries/insert your own moniker/chilled out eateries which just wants to fill yer tummies without the ceremony.

I really heart out loud, and it is always a pleasure eating with Charz, I owe you a burger (or two) for this one. Go visit already.

The Gist of It

Dock Kitchen Offical site
£20-£40 pp
Portobello Dock
342 Ladbroke Grove
W10 5AH
Tel: 02089621610
Nearest Tube: Ladbroke Grove

More photographs of Dock Kitchen here.

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I‘ve lived in london for six years and eaten some great stuff. But when it came time to start writing my first review, I didn’t know where to begin. And so, I do what I usually do when I’m in full contemplation – I have breakfast at Balans.

A good chunk of those six years were spent in Earls Court. Yes, the exhibition centre in Chelsea’s backyard, sporting an abundance of Australians and vehicular pollution. It straddles between zones one and two, being the confused castaway from the Kensington Boroughs and at the same time, the unofficial gateway to Fulham. I do digress.  

I lived about two minutes away from Balans and it was the perfect excuse for me to escape my final year exam revisions (Twas a time I was young). At 8am (closer to 11 actually) in the morning, there are few places I want to go in order to grab a decent breakfast.   

Decor. Dark wood, burgundy colours and cushioned seats. In the mornings, the music is usually turned down, the staff welcomingly warm and make you feel right at home. My only complaint – it can be abit noisy with the traffic – but it does kind of add to the atmosphere of city breakfasting… if you like noise that is. The place is cosy enough to be safely swimming in your own thoughts, conjouring delusions of granduer, and in my case, attempting a review.

Breakfast Pudding. Freshly squeezed orange and apple juice on offer, a fresh start indeed. A few minutes after ordering – and just barely finishing my scan through the front page of the Times – the waiter brings my order of double ham benedicts. I’m told to be aware of the hot plate. Nice and warm. Hollandaise sauce is tricky, it’s one of those recipes where a little too much can spoil everything. When it goes wrong, it’s taste like sour milk. Thankfully, the chef gets its just right. I can taste the silkiness of the butter melding nicely with the lightly toasted muffin. Coupled with some perfectly poached eggs and quality cooked ham – it produced an elegantly effective way to kick start the day. I finished with a large cappuccino, sunk into my seat and leisurely took in some words with every sip.    

There is little doubt that the chef is a master at balanced flavours. They do daily specials and asian influenced dishes such a thai green curry tuna with cocunut infused rice are a common feature. I’ll save that for another time, however, here’s a sneak preview: dinner is great, the corned beef hash, doesn’t sound like much, however it does do what it says on the menu – ‘appetise’. 

Credits: Image by adactio