Here’s a list of good things I expect from a good bistro:

1.Good soup
2.Good steak
3.Good frites
4.Good tartare
5.Superhot waitress

I recall a highlight reel of what the Glasgow arm of this luxury out-of-town hotelier is capable of, during an episode of Don’t tell the bride. They took the tour through the banquet room, the room for the exchange of vows, the grounds. the venue was so slick, the bride cried knowing her man would never plan their wedding there. Of course, I don’t watch that show. It just happened to be playing in the background as I was shaping my manly deltoids at the gym. Obviously.

There are fifteen Hotel du Vins up and down the country from St Andrews to Brighton, none are in London, but presumably all of the hotel restaurants resemble some version of bistro du vin. As of writing, there are two Bistro du Vins in London; one is next to the shit-hot Duck Soup Soho, and the other currently occupies the site where one of the best London bistros died – Bjorn van de Horst’s Eastside Inn.

You do remember Eastside Inn don’t you? That was nice French food. Bistro du Vin doesn’t punch at that level, but in many ways that’s a good thing, because really the formulae that’s being applied – competitively priced, traditional French bistro affair, enomatic-preserved wines by the glass and really big and comfy leather seats – is the template for the mid-range restaurant of the future. Think of the day when the high street restaurant, the Zizzis, The Stradas and Cafe Rouge’s of our beloved city start serving steaks good enough to challenge Parisian bistros. Oh who am I kidding, that day won’t actually ever come, but places like Bistro du Vin are pushing us closer to that reality. I’m not sure how Hotel du Vin feel about this image I am suggesting about their London outposts, that they are the herald of a new restaurant franchise, but really HdV should take it as a compliment. If we’re going to reboot the standard restaurant, it may as well look like this. There’s oysters and steak tartare, terrines and grilled fish with butter and potatoes. There’s also a Josper in the kitchen, cheese supplied by La Cave a Fromage and serious Scotch and English beef. Add that to an orthodox bistro menu that simultaneously appeals to the masses and easily replicated, should equate to a good business model.

Soup du jour, £6.95.

My twitter feed suggests this was a haricot veloute with slow braised oxtail. I didn’t take notes during the meal, but I’m pretty sure I remembered this to be quite delicious. They even stylised it by pouring the soup out from a small porcelain jar like they do in Ramsay restaurants.

Donald Russell Onglet with frites and bearnaise, £14.50.

The steak was a beautiful medium rare, tender and flavoured like the charcoal embers it had briefly laid atop in the Josper. I was freakishly surprised how well the hanger steak came out. I was even more surprised when I had the frites, crispy, potato-ey, a little oily and buttery, the hallmarks of fucking great frites. I was bowled over when I dipped the beef in the bearnaise. It was a great bearnaise – egg and butter and egg. A solid steak and chips, it epitomised the very idea of bistro steak. For £14.50, I could easily have this for lunch every week.

Pork cheeks with gratin potatoes, £16.50.

Soft, melty layers of pork cheek, the heavy red wine jus was delish, but really I was so jealous of the onglet staring at me as it wrapped itself around the lips of the other half. That lecherous piece of red meat. The potatoes were real nice, you know all butter and oil, so rich it made me queasy, evoking an old-fashioned sense of pleasure, mmmm.

The kitchen nightmares-proof menu is applause-worthy, their selection of wines by the glass are admirable, and their cheese deals are good. We paid £59.85 for this meal which included two glasses of wine.

On a separate occasion, I popped back in to try their £8 cheese platter with a glass of £8 Burgundy. I have to say I was treated to a pretty robust selection of French and English cheeses. Served with truffle honey and a plate of oat biscuits. For £8, it’s decent value. Great brie de meaux.

Actually for my 2nd visit, I was duped by the £12.50 unlimited cheese deal – cheese only becomes unlimited if you order it WITH a meal, as opposed to it being the meal itself. It would have been a great idea for a late Saturday lunch – sampling every conceivable in season cheese they had hidden in their stash – that bit isn’t very clearly written on their website, but perhaps an unlimited deal for cheese monsters may be something for the decision makers at BdV to consider. Come on Mr Hotel Executive, how much unlimited cheese do you really think one person actually eat on an empty stomach, let alone after a meal of buttered potatoes?

We’re getting close to that time of the year again, and if you’ve only just been anointed by your boss to put together your team xmas lunch, then you might want to give BdV a call. My forecast is that you will be able to negotiate a pretty decent £25 per head that will please everyone including the food nerd on your team who you suspect to be a closet food blogger with a fig obsession, and has Jay Rayner as his iPhone wallpaper.

The Gist of It

Bistro du Vin Soho
French, £35pp
36 Dean Street, Soho
Tel: 0207 432 4800
Tube: Piccadilly Circus

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I told you Barrica was good. Not all of us agreed two years ago, but we probably do now. After all, they’ve impressed enough of us to have a crack at a second child: Soho newest sensation called Copita, for sherry glass. I’m sure I recognised a couple of ex-Barrica staff who now work at Copita.

Looking back, it may have been because Barrica was yet another conventional tapas bar in face of the stiff competition. The Brindisas for example, the mighty Dehesa group, the supremely hot Barrafina, and that’s just along the spine of Shaftesbury Avenue. 2009 feels like such a long time ago. In the future (2011) , populist plate sharing still prevails, but we have matured past reserving tables or eat sitting down, we’ve put Sherry on the tube map, and small plates are no longer limited to Iberian classics.

How does the rest of the world think of the way we Londoners like to eat out, I wonder. We seem to enjoy the shift toward establishments that merge drinking and nibbling, we don’t mind queuing up, or even notice that new restaurants are cramming the same covers onto shrinking floorspace. Just when you thought the proverbial towel of shared plates has been well and truly wrung of juicy ideas, comes a new tapas bar with enough upgrades to set itself apart from the competition.

But first, let’s talk about the setting: cellar-like, almost dingy (without spiderwebs), there are no tables, but rather rows of table tops supported on ceramic tiled pillars with bar high stools. The reconstructed dilapidation is part of a recurring theme that has taken over this part of town. We, the restaurant goer love it, but there might also be widespread admiration amongst restauranteurs for Russ Norman’s vision of the ultimate Soho diner. These days you can almost count on new restaurants to be reservation-free with food that doesn’t mind looking tussled and just-whipped-up.

Bread with picos biscuits; squab pigeon, pear and chocolate; ajo blanco with beetroot; baked fig with goat’s curd ice cream and cod throat, clams and parsley. The menu is rotated daily, everything reads simply, but with a twist: date, pigeon and beetroot on a tapas menu – that is news to me. Therein lies the refreshing game changer, and here’s a disclaimer before we dive in to the dishes : Whatever you see here, zoom out by 200%. The dishes are sized for baby owls, seriously tiny, smaller than a bamboo steamer of shui mai, though prices are also appreciatively scaled down to match, starting from £3 and up to £8.

I sampled a range, in order of escalating prices.

Pea, fresh cheese and truffle oil croquets, £2.95.

Yes, I know what you’re thinking – this is nothing more than mushy peas, deep-fried with balls of cheese (which taste deceptively like a mozzarella). It was, but it was also bloody fantastic – such simplicity, utter genius. I didn’t think croquetas would ever evolve past bechamel and ham, but here, we may be witnessing the birth of the next deep-fried ball of sensation. Let’s all put the scotch eggs to one side, and start giving these baddies a chance instead.

Duck egg yolk with piquillo and hazelnut, £4.95.

..and I believe with a good lashing of orange juice! The fruity exuberance was wildly fascinating – was this Iberian I wondered, or was it much more than that. Where Jose Pizzaro would think a simple pan-fried duck egg, with a yolk still raw and runny would suffice, Copita takes this several steps further by slow-cooking the yolk to the consistency of a baked custard, a well curdled goat’s cheese, clotted cream that has set in a cold box. Garnished with crushed hazelnut and a bunch of other fresh and choppable things, piquillo pepper butterflied like a bedsheet and showered with presumably olive oil (and a fruit juice such as orange) – it was edible sex. What a refreshing dish this was. Talk about flexing those culinary muscles. This will definitely intrigue neighbouring tapas bar owners and could well go down as one of the best dishes ever created this year (in London).

Cod throat, clams and parsley, £6.95.

The experience of eating arguably the best tapas dish I had this year, was quickly superseded by the best tapas I had this year. The texture of the cod throat meat was fabulous, an oily muscle, almost gelatinous, like eating fish belly or fish eyeballs , or fish head meat, that came with rich palate arresting flavours of oil, garlic and unctuous fish fat (if there is such a thing). Throat was like cheek, except tenderer with much amped flavours of cod – as if it had been soaking in its own liver oil and had spent the night laying with a garoupa in the fridge. I also believe the dish came with a good dollop of puréed garlic too, but I couldn’t tell. The resultant textures were so babyfood-like that each spoonful was knockout punch after knockout punch. Kapow.

Where the conventional tapas bar would have simply steamed clams and shrouded their nakedness with olive oil, Copita had taken it upon themselves to reinvent a classic bar snack into something worthy of record in the annals of culinary history. Cod throat rocks. I never want to go back to the fillet.

Iberico pork ribs, grelot and date sauce, £7.95.

And just when I thought they couldn’t top the cod throat, they surprise with this dastardly amazing homage to pit smoked ribs. Spanish style. You know the Spaniards had a hand in shaping pork smoking, look it up, American BBQ spoke latino at some point in its history. Meaty, gelatinious, muscles slowly pounded by smoke to a fall-off-the-bone consistency. And what in the hell is grelot? Who knows, whatever it was, it works, it has the x-factor. Date was less overbearing than honey, it resulted in a mellow, brown sugar roundness to the sweet bbq flavours, as opposed to a refined taste of monochromatic white sugar. These were a thinking man’s ribs. Bodeans nearby – be very afraid. Jamie and Adam… this is what good ribs taste like. Somebody pin a blue ribbon to this dish. The best pork ribs, I had had in London this year.

Custart tart, £2.50.

Or a slightly posher version of Nata from Nandos. Actually scratch that, no posher than Nandos, this is down and dirty stuff, like Nandos’ its kept on the bar as you enter. But it was definitely good Iberian custard, probably better than having to brave the danger of heading down to Casa Madeira in Vauxhall.

I’m really not a Sherry guy, too papery for me, but I get it, and recommendations to pairing sherry to the food is commendable. Not quite the flight of sherry you would get at Capote y Toros. So I settled with a tall Alhambra. £34.03 poorer, it wasn’t cheap, but I felt enlightened.

How many bread baskets do you know come with doggy style biscuits? Not many. And how many non-complimentary ones only cost a quid. Not many either. Fans of Jose (and probably Mr Pizzaro himself) really need to take a good long look at Copita. This tapas bar is next generation stuff, the flair in the cooking is superb – various sources suggest that the man with the plan is E.Chef James Knight. Well, whoever is behind the recipes, I tip my hat and applaud you – the cooking has verve and soul, the cooking is genial and poetic, the cooking is a reimagination of the small wonder of sampler portioned dishes. This is unadulterated pleasure for those who spend too much time paying for hospitality. Most of all however, the food is genuinely delicious.

And just like that, the world has changed once again.

The Deets.

Copita
Faster than you can say tapas. £33pp.
26-27 D’arblay Street W1F 8E
Tel: 0207 287 7797
Tube: Oxford Circus

Lick your plates : Guy Dimond , Skinny

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Banana skin. I was suggested to try the ‘Ocre Rouge’, a Pinot Noir from Dions (as opposed to Burgundy) and I had come to the conclusion that this was a quirky little devil of a wine. The finish and its tannin structure was akin to banana skin, a first and a rather interesting peculiarity. The same could be said of the terribly cramped environs of the new Soho opening which has captivated Twitter’s appetite. Not only are they the latest restaurant to operate a no reservation service, they have gone the extra mile to install a record player on premises, inviting returning patrons to share their vinyl collection with everybody in the room. Ducksoup is either a genuinely hip place to dine or at the very least a good pretender. It is in keeping with the presumption that Londoners are still very much in love with the idea of less is more when eating out. Think Brawn, Spuntino and Rochelle Canteen throw in a Kitchenaid, then splashed across Fernandez & Wells. Et voilà.

The brains behind this genius are ex-Hix, chef Julian Biggs ( I think he is the beardy one) , Clare Lattin and Rory McCoy, collectively have managed to make the genre of uber-cool and understated, easily egalitarian yet decidedly British restaurant, feel refreshed once again. I really like the name, obviously it is not named after soup, but it gives the entirely random but accidentally on purpose impression, yes? (Yes Kang, keep up the bullshit). Might it have been a homage to a Marx Brothers film, I wonder.

Like many of today’s savvy restauranteurs, the key to conquering market share is online presence. Ducksoup are well equipped of course, already making all the right connections on twitter, (very usefully) posting their daily changing menu on their tumblr. That saves me the trouble of having to snap a photo of their menu. People are tweeting about them, forums are intrigued by the idea of this restaurant, half the battle with restaurants – in my opinion – is appealing to the masses. Once you get it in the prospective diners’ mind that your restaurant is ‘the place to be’ , you are half way there to enticing free wheelin’ hungry gluttons to your restaurant. Whoever Ducksoup have paid to brand their restaurant, I think they have done a bang up job with the subtle campaign.

So lets rewind to my first visit, a late 3pm lunch (high tea?) on the 14th October 2011, to some of you, it may be significant, because that’s also the day we queued up for the iPhone 4S. Yes, heckle as you do, what can I say? I’m a victim of the times, I queued up and paid my dues to the Cupertino empire, and then promptly trotted off to Soho for a late lunch to fondle my new gizmo. Since then, I’ve discovered what anaddictive app Instagram is. Take it from me that the camera on the new iPhone is so good, it alone is worth forking out £500 to replace any ageing point and shoots.

Tomato bread, olive oil, £3.50.

Snap. snap. I was expecting baked foccacia with bits of dried tomato, but instead, this was more like a stew, or perhaps a panzanella made with fresh instead of stale bread. The keyword here is fresh : This bread salad was really wholesome, juicy stuff. I don’t know what tomatoes they used, but I could tell you now, that they were plump.

Lamb cutlets, lemon, salt, £14.00.

Bony. Really bony, is this all the food £14 buys these days? I could pardon the low value for money because these were some of the best lamb cutlets I’d had in a long time. Again, I don’t know where the sheep were from, but they were fragrant, juicy, interestingly a little gamebird like, well seasoned and well fried.

Creme Caramel, £5.00.

What? A fiver for baked milk and eggs? Somebody’s having a laugh. Overpriced and not that well made, could do with more caramel sauce.

My first visit was intriguing enough, that I felt compelled to go back to try it again. I enjoyed the cosy atmosphere well enough, and whoever served me that day, she made me fall dangerously in love… with the restaurant. After meal one, it was pretty obvious this place was not another Russell Norman copycat, because it was rather expensive. I paid £35 for three plates of food plus a glass of white wine. I did admire the sheer quality of produce, while cooking was minimal, I felt it was the work of deft hands.

And so, I went back a week later. As you can peer into the ktichen, and if I am not mistaken, I believe I spotted an (ex?) Zucca chef in there. Can someone confirm? A she.

Chopped raw bavette, toasts, £7.

Fucking great tartare. The meat was beaten to a mince, which meant slithery, soft and smooth going down. Again, I thought ‘wow what great produce’ managing to taste visceral and lively, who knew a bashed bavette could be so tender? Most of all however, it was expertly well seasoned, I’m supposing garlic, salt, onion and capers (and obvious the egg yolk) , that if they were to turn it into a burger, it would turn out to be a pretty sterling patty. Fancy that. Bavette Burger, with Brioche and Ovinsardo. And ducksoup chips. They could sell that for £14.

Fritto Misto, £14.

A langoustine, artichokes, sliced orange, seabass and two slices of scallop, all fried. At first I thought “bloody hell is this it?” (Yes, I talk to myself a lot). The equivalent makele samak at Yalla Yalla gets you a mountain of seafood at half the price, but then I cut into the seabass and all memories of shitty seafood fried to a crisp were banished. The fish…amazing. The langoustine …fresh , but it were the queenies which took my breath away. I cut them down the middle and found a reassuring translucent centre, clap, clap, I applaud a kitchen that understands the importance of never overcooking. The scallops were some of the juiciest mollusks I’d ever had. My mum would have loved it. In fact, the restaurant had so much confidence in its produce that the other mains were simply raw queenies and raw langoustines.

And so we are back to the Pinot from Dions. I was certain of it now, it was definitely the taste of banana skin. This time round I avoided the pudding, but still forked out £30 for the meal. I did not have the Fucking Hell during either visit.

I am overwhelmed by the quality of produce, the seasonal menu may not read well, but I think it is a mark of sure-footed focus and even in its beginning days, Ducksoup is already a rather refined product. Because the space is really just a bar attached to an overachieving kitchen, the ambiance can become quite a bit chaotic. For instance, I was solo dining at the far edge of the bar which was also used by staff to consolidate orders and take card payments, I couldn’t hang my coat, so it stayed on my lap through the meal and at times, it felt like eating on a moving bus. Then again, if you are willing to eat standing up at Jose, this will not be an issue. I think we may be witnessing the derivation of a certain genre of restaurant. What shall we call it ? The soho diner perhaps. It feels cool, it is obvious that people come because it makes them feel exactly that. It’s not a bad thing of course, there is nothing wrong with feeling cool when eating out. In some ways, it reminds me of when Polpo first opened.

So my verdict is that Ducksoup is a solid 3.5 titanium stars out of 5. I think cooking is precise and disciplined but honestly, the recipes are banal, so don’t come here expecting fancy antics. Ducksoup is a no bullshit establishment. I’d like to think it is serving food that its chefs would cook for themselves at the end of service, which is the source of its appeal. The produce is of exceptional quality, if they can keep up the standard of sourcing, I think they will win many fans.

But I feel that they could have eased off the pricing during year one. £5 for small plates and £12 for large ones would have made more sense. Perhaps the ingredients are already quite dear, I don’t know, but I can’t keep up £30 two plate lunches when I know I would only spend a third less at a Russell Norman. I recommend avoiding the creme caramel until they pump more effort into something that is actually worth five pounds.

So, Soho is becoming a great place to eat isn’t it? There are now so many unique options for nourishment nestled amongst our beloved tourist traps. Superb noodles? Koya. A slice of America? Spuntino. How about some trendy beans from down under? Flat White. Tart up for some vintage fayne dining ? Gauthier. Simple everyman burger? Darth Byron. The best roastduck in Europe? Four Seasons (debatable of course). And introducing fried oranges and your personal LPs : Ducksoup.

The Deets.

Ducksoup
Egalitarian. Italian, I suppose. £35pp.
41 Dean Street W1D 4PY
Tel: 0207 287 4599
Tube: Piccadilly Circus

Stir the soup: TimeOut , A lot on her plate , Richard Godwin , The Skinny Bib

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

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

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

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

Marinated Chicken in Spicy Sauce, £7.

Or Saliva Chicken as it is, in Mandarin.

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

Hot and sour Rice Noodle, £6.

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

Hot and Fiery beef slices and tripe , £7.50.

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

Five spice dry beancurd, £5.

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

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

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

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

Deep no?

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

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

So goes the story.

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

Zhong’s (secret) dumplings, £4.40.

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

Crab with salted egg yolk, £17.50.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The Gist of It

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

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

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Coming to a West End near you, a slice of Little Hanoi. Let Pho fever be unleashed. Again. Yep, you feel it too don’t you. It is starting, Cay Tre is going to sweep the intertubes, and with good reason: they flog smashing Vietnamese food to the public.

Many of you are already quite familiar with the Vietnamese Kitchen’s group of restaurants, namely Cay Tre and Viet Grill, which counts Mark Hix, amongst its many fans. This time round however, Mr Hix happens to also be a very involved stakeholder with Hieu Trung Bui’s latest venture.

So it is little surprise that the new Cay Tre in Dean Street shares much of its menu with the Hoxton branch and Viet Grill, such as the theatrical Chả cá Lã Vọng and the incastratable Mekong Catfish.

Reminiscent of Viet Grill, but one in which its decor has been given a spit shine of the highest order. Pristine, white enamel table tops, black chairs with black leather cushions, wooden panel walls, painted white and pressed against cement walls (also painted white). Wah… so clean. The room is long and narrow, a little clastrophobic, and if you squint, you would be forgiven for mistaking this to be NOPI, but with less brass. Much less brass.

My eating schedule is all screwed up these days, so lunch for us was at the sleepy hour of three on a Saturday afternoon. Understandably, you lot were all frolicking in Hampstead Heath or licking ice cream cones at Gelupo, so the restaurant was completely empty. All this space to me and the missus then.

We chose from a limited afternoon menu, that listed large bowls of pho, plates of rice and small bowls nibbly things. Prices range from £8 to £9 for the large ones, and £4 to £7 for the small bowls. Now the afternoon deal was £14 for a large and a small, so we very carefully chose the priciest pairs in order to maximum the discount.

Grilled calamari with lemongrass, coriander and chilli oil, £7.

Nice. These small bowls were so large, they put the entire shrinking small plates revolution to shame. You seeing this Nopi? This is how big, small plates should look like.

Large parcels of cut squid, simply charred, but served with a stonkingly great dipping sauce. Was it the lemongrass that I was tasting, the chilli oil, or was there more to the secret ? It tasted like a fire breathing bitter burnt chocolate gravy with chilli and oil doused over it. What a great dipping sauce. Ka pow.

Cha la lot. Spicy ground pork wrapped in betel leaves, served with roasted peanuts and nuoc cham, £7.

The nuoc cham was a sweet chilli drizzle, which was less exciting than the calamari’s dipper, but this one was great for the vermicelli. I’m sure I’ve had something quite similar on my many visits to Viet Grill.

Ox Cheek au Vin Pho, £9.

Stop the press, or the blogging and run out to Cay Tre, now. This was the best bowl of food I had had all week long. I don’t think the combination of ox cheek and pho has been done yet, at least this was a first for me, and I have got to say: This is a winner. A real winner. You and I both know how good ox cheeks can get when they are slow cooked to off-the-bone, tenderness, with the melt-the-glacier tendons falling off the meat and such. The cheeks were absolutely divine, cubes of silky, slithery and buttery clumps of protein. So tender, they deformed like marshmallows do under the stress of a metal fork. Extremely generous chunks of cheeks were allotted to this bowl of pho, I counted five, maybe six, or perhaps seven. Everytime the soup spoon went in, the better half scooped up yet another piece of meat.

Lemongrass and marrow rich and it wasn’t spicy at all (which suited me fine.) the soup stock was great, but I couldn’t really tell if it were greater than the Cafe East version. Truth be told, I can’t actually tell the difference between Kingsland road’s finest versus Cafe East, but what I can conclude is that they are all good enough for an enjoyable experience. But if you pressed a gun to my head, I would probably say the Cafe East version was better.

I thought this ox cheek pho was a real knock out punch. A superb combo, the depth of richness in the ox cheeks really does do the pho alot of justice. I could really do with another bowl of this as I write this. Go try this, and then come back here to tell me if I’m right or if I’m dead wrong.

Com Saigon. Grilled pork and shredded pork fillet, served with a fried duck egg and jasmine rice. £9

I’m a rice fella, Chinese roots and all, I need my steamed rice. The better half is from down under, so she’s a better judge of the soupy stuff, but I pride myself as a man who lives by the grain, a man who swears by his one plate meat + rice, and by those estimations, this was not the best pork fillet rice I’d yet had. It was alright, but just nothing to shout about.

The best Viet style pork chops on rice I’ve tried in London were at Song Que, and the best pork chops on rice I’ve ever tried were at a restaurant called ‘Black Shop Pork Chop Rice‘ in Danshui, about a 20 minute train ride from Taipei to the coastal town. Not a fair comparison, since the latter are pork chop rice experts. If you ever visit, GO THERE.

Puddings are at least another 2 weeks before they make it on to the menu, and I hazard a guess that it will include the tapioca, durian and coconut. Plus two glasses of Vietnamese coffee, the bill was a respectable £37.12.

All in all, I think Cay Tre is a wonderful addition to Soho. We’ve all made the eastward pilgrimage to sample the internet’s favourite Vietnamese cafes, and much of what I love about Viet Grill, has (seemingly) been successfully transposed to the new site in Dean Street.

Now if only Cafe East would do a ‘Cafe West’ and open right next door to Cay Tre. They are the momentary master of pho… and the three colour drink, and would it be so bad for the two restaurants to duel for our affections. Wishful thinking? Stranger things have happened.

The Gist of It

Cay Tre Soho
Vietnamese, £20pp
44 Dean Street, W1D 4QD
Tel: (020) 7317 9118
Tube : Piccadilly Circus

Pho now: Skinny Bib , Greedy Diva , Time Out London , Fay Maschler

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I would like to begin by publicly apologising to Russell Norman and his team, because on reflection, I think I was man-pmsing when I wrote the Polpetto review. I was out of line, and rude, and I hope I can be forgiven. Handslap.

Most of you are already familiar with the famous bacaro in Soho that is Polpo, and many of you would have heard of the owners, Norman and Beatty’s exciting plans of growing the brand they have created. And while Polpetto was more of the same, except smaller (great ossobuco), the third outfit, Spuntino, is a step in a totally different direction. The Italian influence, is now heavily laced with references to the American diner, the menu is still presented as a personal paper table cloth; except this time round, you can almost hear Robert Frank’s shutter going off in the background to a recital of the bebop beat poetry of Jack Kerouac.

Spuntino inherits the winning ambiance from its predecessors and then some. There’s just something very special about this squarish room, in the heart of striptease central. I didn’t like the crammed Polpo and hated the rammed Polpetto, but Spuntino is very close to perfect.

Spuntino is tiny, about twenty can sit around the bar, there’s a table for six right at the back, and at the very end of the bar, there is a oversized stool, affectionately termed the kissing stool, where the better half and I were lucky enough to nab during this visit. Incidentally, this was their very first Saturday service, so it was little surprise to see Russell on the floor making sure things were running as smoothly as possible. Folksy tunes in the background, I recognised the Bob Dylans, beyond that, I was just so absorbed with the first rate waitering, the high ceilings, the cream walls, the bricks, the funky hanging filament bulbs, to pick up much else.

If you thought Polpo was simple, there is even less fuss about Spuntino. Essentially this is a caffe, with a bar, serves snacks (hence Spuntino) and so it’s logical for them to be open all day from elevenses till late, take no bookings, doesn’t even list an on-site phone number but welcomes everybody with very modern and very laid-back embrace.

Egg & Soldiers, £3.50.

Soft boiled, and encrusted in a deep-fried sesame armour with greased soldiers, was a sign of the fun times to come. Was it American, Italian, British or something entirely new? Who cares, it’s food, it’s good and we want more.

Truffle Egg Toast, £5.50.

And more we got. Melting fontina cheese, a custard cream yolk centre, very thick, very crusty white bread, truffle oil, such simple pleasures combined to produce an utterly sinful, sinful (sinful) attack on the palate. It didn’t look like much, but this was so bloody damn good, that I think it should be hailed as the open sandwich that toppled the croque monsieur as the gentlemen’s sandwich (of choice) for the 21st century. Heavy truffle flavours fighting against a sharp cheese on a sturdy bed of toasted white bread. Did I say this was bloody damn brilliant ?

Calamari, chickpeas, ink, £7.00.

As soon as this landed, I shouted “Polpo!” and was glad to enjoy this hearty, well seasoned comfort dish with the better half, who has (amazingly) never been to Polpo or Polpetto, but who was (extremely) impressed with this dish.

Baby gem, soft egg, creamed cod dressing, £6.00.

More soft boiled egg, on a bed of a gem of a lettuce salad with oversized croutons, simple, homely and lovely.

Slider with ground beef and bone marrow, £4.50 and shoestring fries, £3.00.

Shaved potatoes for shoestring fries were greasy and addictive. Up till now, greasy, creamy, deep-fried, sinful and eggy appeared to be the theme running throughout the recipes. I really liked the interpretation of the original 5 cent burger (You might recall I hated Byron’s early sliders years ago) mainly because the patty was very good. Ironically the patty was rather large considering it was a mini burger, almost like deliberately oversized meatball in fact. Onion and pickles over toasted brioche, with a juicy pink centre, and melted cheese dripping all over it. Eating this in one go, reminded me of a diner scene in Archie comics. I could feel myself morphing into Jughead, savouring these sliders with approving nods and wishing my stomach were as bottomless as his, just so I could have two more.

Spicy sausage, lentil & radicchio, £7.00.

This is the only dish I didn’t like. It was fine, sausage with lentils, and a mild spiciness to it, with lovely Italian chicory in the mix, but it paled in comparison to the rest of the food.

Peanut butter and Jelly Sandwich, £6.50.

To finish, the classic PB&J, rejigged into a kind of peanut butter flavoured iced nougat sandwiching rich, red fruit jam with sprinklings of peanuts and demerara sugar (I think).

It was a stroke of pure genius, undulated fun and I think Spuntino represents the moment in which this series of restaurants achieved a rarified air of pellucid magic. Perhaps this is the reason why we, Londoners have been so infatuated with Russell Norman’s restaurants in the last couple of years.

We paid £54.34, including service, a glass of white and half a pint of Meantime. As expected, the restaurant is fabulous value for money. I stupidly asked for a latte, but they only serve filtered coffee, poured into enamel tin soldier mugs, like those seen in war movies, from bulb shaped glass jugs, complete with rising steam. Ahhh. ‘Twas a great ending to a fabulous Saturday lunch.

I think Spuntino is awesome, a very welcomed cafe/diner/bar/restaurant/watering hole to Soho. I think there is something quite special about this particular branch, I will definitely be back, and I think you would enjoy it as well, when you eventually visit. The place smells great, of popcorn, coffee, honey, dust, oil and hot burgers; it is impossible for patrons not to enjoy it, with all this flavour swirling around in the air.

On my way out, I told Russell how much we enjoyed the meal, and I told him I liked Spuntino the best, that he was onto something special with this one. Unsurprisingly he told me many had already indicated it to him. He also said that this was a labour of love for him.

The food is pure fantasy, not in the it’s going to win a star way, but (thankfully) in the fuck it’s just so darn delicious, I could eat this over and over again, kind of way. I don’t know whether to think that it leans toward being American or Italian or British or otherwise, but I think it is very London, very Soho, and perhaps that’s what makes it so special, in that it belongs and was born right here in London. I believe Norman’s eateries are helping to redefine the contemporary idea of eating out. If the Ivys, Sheekeys and the Scotts were 20th century, Nina Simone chic, then perhaps Spuntino is the 21st century, Corinne Bailey Rae reboot. Sleeker, sexier, leaner, but still ever elegant, soaking in sacks of culture and ever so delicious.

The Gist of It

Spuntino
American, £25pp
61 Rupert Street W1D 7PW
No phones, no reservations.
Tube: Piccadilly Circus

More photos on my flickr page.

Spunky: TimeOut London ; Food Stories ; Cheese and Biscuits ; Eat like a girl ; The Arbuturian; Campari and Soda

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Perhaps it has aspirations toward becoming the Ding Tai Fung of Europe, what with the copycat white walls, chefs folding xia long bao behind glass panels. Full marks for ambiance and kudos for trying to emulate a franchise which has perfected the delivery of consistently good XLBs. Unfortunately, we’re closer to Chinatown, London, than we are to Tienmu,Taipei, and sadly that makes for a more than wary customer in me.

I cannot say I’m not glad to see Dumplings’ Legend take over from the ageing and overly torrid Lee Ho Fook – a champion way before my time, but probably because of Warren Zevon’s singing rather than for its Michelin winning ways – which in its twilight years, churned out some of the worst Chinese food I can remember. Though usually applied to restaurants with rip-off prices, my dad branded it a ‘black store’ (as in blacklisted, banned, do no enter, nuclear wastage) anyway.

Unconfirmed reports and to my best guesstimations suggest that the owners of Dumplings’ Legend also own the Leongs Legends restaurants, as well as Empress of Sichuan. So at the very least, some semblance of quality can be expected. I take the general view that LL and LL Continues (for the overspill of customers) are two of the ‘best’ dim sum restaurants in Chinatown, which says very little of the tremendously bad quality of Chinatown restaurants these days really. Perhaps because of its associations, there are recognisable LL specific dishes, such as cheung fun stuffed with seabass, which I quite like.

As the name suggests, dumplings are at the heart of the game at DL, and as a result, features no less that 7 different types of xia long baos on their dim sum menu, from spicy pork to pork with crab meat and one with fresh crab roe.

Dim sum is served to 5pm, after which the dinner menu takes over. I’ll try not to sneer at the food too much since it is Chinese New Year anyhow.

Xia Long Bao, Spicy Pork, £6.

So it seems only natural to kick off proceedings with the XLBs. If we use the above photograph as a go-by, it would suggest a dry, craggily and underwhelming affair, where in actual fact it wasn’t too bad. The stuffing was alright, the juices were alright, but the wrapping was inconsistent at best. Some were too delicate, in that the slightest tug tore it apart, letting the precious broth flow away to the bamboo steamer. Others were incredibly thick, as if it were made of lead, instead of flour. While XLBs are no longer a rare occurrence in London, few if any, rarely produce anything quite as memorable as a trip to Asia. Though generally speaking, things are headed in the right direction. It’ll be a while before we see a true standard in London that can match anything the expanding Ding Tai Fung franchise (which in the grand scheme of XLB things, is not even the very best) , but we live in hope. Who knows, we might even see a genuine Ding Tai Fung in Europe before long? The year of the rabbit is a fruitful one.

Scallop & Cheese, Mashed Taro, £2.50.

I really enjoyed this fried puffer, not entirely sure what sort of processed cheese they used (probably the cheapest ones they could find), but it was great. Something about the grainy texture of the mashed yam, the sliced and diced scallop, the melted cheese….mmm. Or perhaps it was my palate requiring reorientation.

Siu Mai, £2.50.

Rich shrimp flavours, much more than that of pork fat – a good thing, spongy and spring-like, I thought it was pretty good.

Sea bass Cheung Fun, £3.30.

Not pictured, and which came sans any sauce whatsoever. It was nice though, if a little suspect. It was cold, suggesting that it might not have been freshly steamed, but for what it was worth, the texture was consistent, and slithering seabass went so well with rice flour. Reminiscent of Leongs Legends.

Durian Puff, £3.20

Aha! Finally the pièce de résistance, this I loved. Served warm, the sweet durian paste was flossy and appears to have been made with real durian flesh intermeshed with the preserved kind. In fact, we liked it so much we ordered two. It could do with even more durian and abit less pastry, and while it’s no comparison to durian puff specialists which can be found in the food hall at say Takashimaya in Singapore, it was of a good standard.

We paid £36.10 for all food, drank a mix of chrysanthemum and poli, and overall I thought it was not too bad. It’s no Wing Yip, but its as good as it gets in Chinatown terms. I wouldn’t mind returning for the XLBs to be quite fair, and expectedly, the bottomline is slender.

Happy Chinese New Year folks, Nian nian yiu yu, and may you eat fish a plenty.

The Gist of It

Dumplings’ Legend
Chinese, £20pp
15-16 Gerrard Street W1D 6JE
Tel: (020) 7494 1200
Tube: Leicester Square

Har Gao : Marina Metro ; Greedy Diva ; Chowhound Thread; Food Fight

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The long time resident oyster bar at Borough market opened their 2nd London outlet in late 2010, in the very heart of central London. It takes up an entire wing that oversees the courtyard in Kingly Court, with a view of nearby Cha Cha Moon. Alan Yau’s woefully modern noodlebar, which I dread, and which is a place I would only return to, if prices revert to the introductory £3.50-for-every-plate.

Fortunately, I may never need to, now that the new Wright Brothers is so conveniently located, staying open all day from lunch through to midnight, I find myself compelled to go shopping, just as an excuse to pop in for a mid afternoon oyster slurping session. Wright Brothers are in fact oystermen themselves, who own the Duchy oyster farm in Cornwall, cultivating over 5 million natives and pacifics every year along the Helford River. I have obviously never visited, but it seems like an interesting weekend trip to conduct one of these days. This positions WBs as one of the most productive oyster farms in GB.

Previous to WB Soho, my go-to oyster bars were Bentley’s (damn their oysters are fine) and then to J Sheekeys. If you are an oyster lover like me, you can only appreciate yet another oyster specialist opening in town. The media has thus far graced it with a rather luke-warm reception, though it largely praised its split-level, open plan kitchen, wood planked and brass bar setting – modern, a little hectic and fitting for the area. I paid a visit shortly before Christmas in the mid afternoon, to try out my theory of it being an ideal refueling station alternative to high tea. Especially after a rather heavy late breakfast at Dishoom.

6x Kumamoto Oysters, £18.

I didn’t take notes on this trip, but I did remember these smaller-than-average, sea faring jewels, being impressive.They were so pure in taste and so sweet in flavour, that it fizzled on the palate. This particular breed of oysters has its origins in Ariake Bay in Kumamoto Prefecture, of the Kyushu island in Japan; these ones are – as I understand it – cultivated by WB’s Duchy farm. It’s great stuff, could replace my preference for Natives.

I write this while currently on vacation in Brunei (on a very large 27inch iMac, wow all that screen real estate..!) where restaurants import air-flown oysters from New Zealand, which seems like lunacy really; frozen oysters (so I gather) that has made me ever so slightly wary of its adequacy to be eaten freshly after shucking. Perhaps that’s why the menu also gently suggested grilled oysters. Hmm… a curiosity I have yet to satisfy, fearing health concerns. I digress.

What with the rich history of London’s turn of the century chop houses, (and what with me being so far away at the moment), I feel appreciative that the country as a whole, is currently graced with an array of reputed oyster rearing regions – from Lock Fyne to Carlingford to Whitstable, superb oysters are something the UK can boast. Slurp, slurp, slurp.

2x Dressed Crabs on Toast, £18

The main man in the kitchen is one David Gingell, formerly of Galvin’s excellent value-conscious Bistrot de Luxe, and also formerly of St Alban. His track record suggests a good fit for the type of easy, hearty Anglo-French dishes that could best compliment the oysters, at least on paper. Practically, the results seem inconsistent, and have only managed to adequately meet the expectations of your favourite London critics and blogs. As for my personal experience, both Mark and I found the crabs on toast to be hugely edible, but incidental, and was certainly not better than some of the better egalitarian Brit-fare purveyors like Great Queen Street for example.

They charged us a quid for a jug of tap, and the bill came to £37 for the afternoon snack, service charge was exclusive and at our discretion.

I like the atmosphere, and I think it’s a great oyster bar. I spot Frank Hedderman smoked salmon on the menu, which is a good thing; ox cheek and oyster pie sounds like it could be a winner, though generally speaking, I think that warm food at WBS are probably (should be) incidental side dishes to an afternoon (or evening) of oyster bingeing. Obviously don’t just take my word for it, given that I had hardly ordered any hot food based on this visit. I am however, very confident of their oysters. Expect to fork out abit of cash for the fabulous selection of oysters, though I think you will be largely impressed with the shucking. As for me, once I get back to GB, I’ll be headed there for a dozen Duchy natives, paired with an excellent bottle of Chablis to wash down all that minerality.

The Gist of It

Wright Brothers Soho
Oyster Bar and more, £25pp
13 Kingly Street and G7/G8 Kingly Court
W1B 5PW
Tel: 020 7434 3611
Tube: Oxford Circus

Oystermen: Greedy Diva ; Jay Rayner ; GT.

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The sheer volume of blogposts on Bob Bob Ricard throughout 2010 made the interwebs quite a homogeneous place to read about new things. For a moment in time, BBR was perhaps the trendiest all day, all-booth, Anglo diner in London, complete with champagne push buttons and a power outlet for the laptop wielding gastrophile. I’d imagine it is so you could blog about your meal, as you ate. I won’t do a full write-up on this well-liked restaurant in Soho, because you’ve probably read about it, but I will show you the photographs I took on my first (yes, my first) visit to the restaurant.

I avoided the circus when it rolled into town, and was perfectly happy to avoid altogether, but then Mark put together a very strong case for BBR (telling me it is the quintessential Soho diner), and he convinced me to have a go at it (preferably with ripped jeans and flip flops), with a rather impromptu, late Sunday lunch in the mid afternoon, so he could hand me some sausages stuffed with mushrooms, something he picked up from a recent visit to France.

And it was. The interior design was glamorous alright. Blue leather booths, polished brass, tiled floor, darkly lit, brown and very chic. Service came draped in a golden-hued tie, an off-pink blazer and an ear to ear smile. Mark has visited on more than one occasion, and service is a particular highlight at BBR, it seems. We felt comfortable indeed.

Finally, the food…oh gosh, the food was – surprisingly – brilliant. I ordered the (much raved about) Veal Holstein, with qualis eggs, anchovies, truffled mash, capers and ‘secret sauce’ (£21.50) , and was bowled over by how comforting this hearty, mushy, juicy dish was. Overseen by Chef James Walker, whom I must tip my hat to, who lays on English classics, with a touch of Russian flair – Probably a reflection of the owners Leonid Shutov and Richard Howarth. A slither of Mark’s juicy Chicken Kiev was equally pleasing. Onglets supplied by the excellent Irish butcher in Knightsbridge, O’Sheas are also on the menu, served with frites.

Going back to service, I think I might prefer BBR to The Wolseley, the latter more epic in Grand Cafe terms, and the former a little more egalitarian, a little funkier, equally vintage in style, but utterly modern in execution. It’s just a great brasserie, diner, cafe, place to hang out, and the all-welcoming attitude is a breathe of fresh air. If you still haven’t been, I think BBR is worth a try. Not cheap however, we paid £68.91 for two plates of food plus two glasses of wine (more if you are partial to Vodka and Caviar), but it’s worth it. Glad to say that BBR is actually a place I would revisit, and I suspect I will in 2011, or maybe during Boxing day sales, if it is open, and if I still have some change.

The Gist.

Bob Bob Ricard
Anglo-Russian All Day Diner, Vodka & Caviar, 40pp
1 Upper James Street, London, W1F 9DF
Tel: +44 (0)203 145 1000
Tube: Piccadilly Circus

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Les Deux Salons is into week 3 of operation, as of this visit, and I am glad to say that the kinks from the soft launch, crucially to do with service & speed, have been thoroughly worked out of the system. But thank goodness, this resplendent brasserie is not run with military precision, rather with a conservative friendliness instead. It is early days yet, though impressions are that Les Duex Salons is a serious contender for the title of ultimo Soho Anglo-French brasserie.

We must start with decor, and boy is it breathtaking. The site is on William IV Street – which is near another Gallic superstar, Terroirs – once a Pitcher & Piano, painstakingly (at great expense I gather) converted into a thirties-style brasserie that harks back to Middle Europe Grand Cafe traditions, of a champagne brass, green leather booths and vintage train station-style lamps. 250 covers are spread over two floors. The decor immediately reminded me of another throw back design that is the sheer grandeur of St Pancras Grand (at St Pancras Station), and sure enough, the man who has dreamt up this luxury is doubly responsible for both. Martin Brudnizki, London based and Swedish born designer, also the main man behind many of Richard Caring’s luxury sites, including the recent redesigns of Ivy, Scotts, J Sheekey and Dean Street Townhouse. I really do feel a certain magic has been ignited with the design, the setting is half the excitement of visiting such restaurants. Just bootiful.

The other half, of course is food, and pedigree is assuringly found in heaps, since Les Deux Salons is the 3rd from the Demetre and Smith stables. You know I hold Demetre’s restaurants in high regard; Anthony has an affinity toward offal, and is a successful interpreter of ‘budget fine dining’ what with both Arbutus and Wild Honey turning in a michelin star, each. To this day, both restaurants are still modestly priced, both with a la carte as well as with prix-fixe options, offering a balance of muscular bistro-style dishes, with a touch of elegance. The Arbutus braised pork head remains one of my favourite dishes in town. Of course, such a high profile chef equates to a high profile opening, and I imagined that its soft launch had serviced a logjam of interested restaurant collectors, bloggers and of course food writers. I avoided it however, not by choice, rather by work commitments which had taken me out of the country during the opening week.

Studying the menu, there are shades of Arbutus/Wild Honey, it is unsurprising that some dishes have simply migrated to this venture, especially the choice of ingredients, namely the ox cheeks, bavette, razor clams, boneless chicken wings and rabbit. Although the pairing of ingredients appear to have been reworked superficially for this 3rd restaurant. For all intents and purposes, I feel that Les Deux is an evolution of the Demetre/Smith formula, which thus far is a winning one, even though his muscular cooking does tend to split opinion at times. I for one, am a fan.

The wine list is predominantly French this time round, however, their house red is a Spanish Tempranillo by Puerto de Santos, at a reasonable asking price of £14.50. We ordered a bottle. Mark, myself on a table of four, in the joyous company of the kinder halves for Saturday lunch.

LES ENTRÉES

Ravioli of rosé veal, fresh goats curd, cavolo nero £8.95

I kicked off proceedings with this pasta-free ravioli made from thin slices of veal, with a rather mild goats cheese and kale stuffing. Mmm. Hearty. Zealous zing in the jus, perhaps reduced from the undiscarded bones, and I surmise it had been garnished with orange peel, as the fibrous feel was certainly redolent of it.

This had Arbutus written all over it, the veal-ravioli is something of a signature accompaniment with the braised pigs head over there, albeit stuffed with something rather stronger than kale & cheese.

Autumn wild mushrooms and Clarence Court poached egg on toast, £8.95.

To my left, I thought Mark was the winner with this umami-rich mushrooms and egg on toast, which appears to be soaking in an equally umami-potent mushroom sauce. A swift ladle on to my side plate – yes fabulous stuff.

The women seemed equally at ease with their choices, an onion tart and a pumpkin soup (if memory serves) from the £15.50 set menu.

“JOSPER” CHARCOAL GRILL and LES PLATS

Andouillette de Troyes AAAAA, mustard sauce £14.50

“This is a dish not for the faint hearted.” said our affable waiter of a traditionally iconic pork chitterlings sausage. And here I’m going to be lazy and lift some content from this website which describes:

The traditional Troyes andouillette is made out from quality pork products – large intestines and stomachs – attentively selected. The original recipe dates back to the Middle Ages according to the Champagne legends.

The delightful – and distinctive! – taste of the andouillette results from cutting the chitterlings lenghtwise first, and seasoning these thin stripes with onions, herbs, salt and black pepper.

The next step is to wrap the mixture with pork bowels and slowly cook these typical French sausages in a court-bouillon stock for 5 hours.

Not for the faint hearted indeed. The sausages were regally presented in a solid copper saucepan – the vibrancy of the mustard sauce, eye catching, as were the folded intestines, now visible when sliced. Unsurprisingly, the dish reeks as it landed, the smell was near enough overwhelming… I can eat almost anything, but this dish eventually defeated me.

The first bite was exactly like a fart in the mouth – bold and resolute, a sobering reminder that I was eating swine insides. The texture was rubbery, but quickly dissolved, akin to squid, and actually quite pleasing. Kudos to the mustard sauce, a creamy, mild, onion and herb mixture that I could drink as if it were soup, and with the overpowering sausages, it ensured that I did drink it like soup. I ladled heaps of it, and drown the sausages in large gulps of red wine, and I must confess I could not finish it off. Though I was proud to have got through 3/4 of it. It was good considering the adventure it was, something to try if you are feeling particularly so, but I wouldn’t attempt it again. I can do offal, but this is in a completely different league altogether.

As an aside, the ‘AAAAA’ suffix doesnt refer to a grade per se, rather it is an acronym for Association Amicale des Amateurs d’Andouillette Authentique or The Friendly Association of Authentic Andouillette Lovers, which convenes twice a year, I imagine to agree standards for this beloved Gallic dish, BO would go unnoticed at the meeting, I’m sure.

Frpm the Set Menu – Mullet and mushrooms.

The missus’ fish was effective and reserved brilliance – completely reminiscent of Demetre’s style which had won him his first star at Arbutus.

Bavette of Scottish beef, shallot sauce. £15.95

Mark and I, being the beefheads we were, thought the bavette was rather bland, dry and lacking of the crispy charcoal taste, which we knew a Josper was capable of imparting. This was a dish I had eaten before at Arbutus, albeit a roastier and meatier version served with the excellent gratin dauphinois. At Les Deux, the gratin had morphed into a £3.50 side dish, while managing to be creamy, it wasn’t quite as cheesy and full-bodied as the Arbutus version which I love. I think they are still grappling to get the Josper up and running properly – it is a beast of a grill to tame, but I’m sure that once Smith’s men fine tune it, this bavette will have the chance to really shine. Great jus however.

LES DESSERTS, all £5.95 each.

We hugely enjoyed this segment of the meal, all the puddings were distinctly amazing. All were benchmark material. For our incessant photography – both Mark and I freely papping away – we were ‘rewarded’ with a rum baba on the house. A first for me, perhaps a sign of changing times, what with restaurants accepting cameras as part of life? Brownie points to staff for this move in any case, I felt comfortable and well taken care of, as opposed to being scowled and ridiculed. Our waiter liberally poured Havana Club 7 year rum over the yeast cake and we savoured what we thought was one of the best examples of this classic French pudding. It were the sickly sweet rum flavours soaking with the cake that got us swooning, complimented by frivolous slices of pineapple and Chantilly cream.

Classic Creme Brulee.

Great demerara crust – blowtorched to perfection which is to say it was not burnt. It tasted surprisingly close to candy floss..! The brulee itself was a cool, smooth and soft custard. I liked it for it was not overly sweet, it was restraint and lovingly folded – a classic indeed.

“Pain Perdu” with Cox apple.

“Like a French bread and butter pudding.” proclaimed the waiter, and perhaps a succinct description. Served warm with a raisin muffin-like flavour to it. It came with a creme anglais that was rich in vanilla, spoonfuls later, I wondered if I had died and gone to pudding heaven.

Floating islands with pink praline.

And finally, a replica of another French fancy, the excellent pink ile flottante which occasionally makes its round on the Arbutus/Wild Honey menu. A soft meringue that disappears like a whiff of mist the moment you eat it. Brill.

You must have pudding when you eventually visit Les Deux Salons, we tried five, and it was unanimously five out of five.

Our bill came to £150.86, working out to roughly £45 each, plus wine, coffee and service charge. A hugely enjoyable experience altogether, as I said, the venue is just great, it’s a looker, yet the staff’s high spirits ensured that proceedings were fluffy rather than stuffy. Most importantly, cooking was on the money, classic flavours that work. And classic seems to be the overriding theme – and I am guesstimating that Demeter wishes to be – catering to a wider audience who may not be au fait with offal, the flavours are definitely milder than his Michelin establishments. Save for the andouillette obviously. There is a danger that classicism might equate to being boring, but I think Les Deux strikes the right balance. Knowing Demetre’s track record, I think this menu will continue to evolve over time. It is early days after all, and the potential for something exciting is only too apparent. Richard Caring has serious competition now, especially for those of you, constantly hunting for a spot that is central, apt for business and can cater to celebrations, in small or large groups.

I’ve always thought of Arbutus as the bold version of Anthony’s vision, fully developed, unhindered and brawny. Wild Honey, its sequel, was always the softer alternative, the feminine companion for delicate palates. And if I am allowed one more hyperbole, then I think Les Deux Salons is the perfect child borne of the marriage of Demetre’s two restaurants – French allusions, with a decidedly London accent.

More photographs from the visit here…and apologies for the unsightly wordcount, but I was excited.

The Gist.

Les Deux Salons
French Bistro, £40pp
40 – 42 William IV Street, London WC2N 4DD
Tel: 020 7420 20500207 377 0155
Underground : Covent Garden

Nostalgia: Guy Dimond for Time Out London ; owjk ; Slow Food Kitchen ; Gourmet Traveller ; Hardens

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