Monday, 15 May 2017
I've never been short of reasons to visit Tooting; it is, after all, home of my beloved Apollo Banana Leaf, one of London's best (and best value) Sri Lankan restaurants; to Spice Village, the Tayyabs of the South, serving a fantastic menu of authentic Punjabi dishes; and a whole host of other interesting South Indian and Sri Lankan joints all up and down Tooting Road. It's a genuine food destination, and the fact it's only 20 minutes on the 219 bus from my house is, for someone otherwise stuck with the less-than-inspiring selection of restaurants on Lavender Hill (Mien Tay excepted), a real godsend.
But now, Tooting has "gone all Brixton" and the indoor Broadway Market (not to be confused with its namesake in Hackney, or indeed Tooting Market which is also something different) these days plays host to the kind of eclectic group of music stores, bottle shops and counter restaurants that will be very familiar to anyone who's ever wandered through Market Row SW9.
One of the newest arrivals in Broadway is the Tapas Room, a little side project from the Donostia Social Club gang and so already bearing quite a good pedigree. The menu is short - only 3 hot dishes, the rest of it mainly cheese and charcuterie - and simple; there's no leg of jamón ibérico de bellota being carved, for example (there's no room, for a start), and no fancy cuts of presa or secreta seared in a charcoal-fired Josper grill. It's closer, in fact, to the kind of stripped-back tapas bar you might find on the streets of Spain than the big-name flagship London-Spanish restaurants such as José or Barrafina.
And yet, in simplicity there is often great beauty. Pan con tomate is basically the Tapas Room in a single dish - bright and cheery, straightforwardly enjoyable but also clearly with a good knowledge of Spanish food having gone into it, it was the best I've tried since Barrafina, and as anyone who's ever tried that will tell you, that's a hell of a compliment. Everything was right about this - excellent quality tomatoes seasoned with big crystals of sea salt, a faint burn of garlic and - most importantly - lightly toasted ciabatta that's not too chewy. A pan con tomate masterclass.
Chicken liver parfait was also a fine example, with a good smooth, light texture and good rich flavour. It came with a pickled fig - presumably pickled in-house though don't quote me on that - which played the part of the chutney which would usually arrive with a chicken liver parfait.
If I was to criticise any aspect of this combined cheese and charcuterie platter - and I will, because that's why you're here - it would be to say that I do not like to see the cheeses touching each other on a board. Cheese is not like ice cream; you shouldn't be eating any more than one kind in one mouthful, and cross-contamination (especially with stronger cheeses) sullies the experience. That said, they were all good cheeses (Picos blue, a washed-rind manchego and a really lovely soft goats whose name I really should have made a note of), served at the correct temperature and so they just about got away with being stacked up like Jenga blocks. And the sausages were all great - a Catalonian fuet, an Iberico salsichon and Basque chorizo which all packed a huge flavour.
At the risk of repeating myself, both hot dishes were also, well, great. First white asparagus, gently charred on the grill and dressed in a romesco/pesto-style combo with a few toasted almonds on top, it was a perfect showcase for this seasonal delicacy.
And then, best-till-last, a giant slab of soft morcilla, toasted to crunchy on the edges but soft and fluffy inside, with a couple of fried quail's eggs on top like big cartoon eyes. Like everything that had come before, it was expertly constructed and confidently presented, unfussy but eminently enjoyable.
With so many fantastic Spanish restaurants in London at the moment, it's very easy, despite our best intentions, to get a bit blasé when yet another lovely little spot appears serving cheese and charcuterie and fried morcilla with quail's eggs. So it's important to never make the mistake of thinking running a place like this is easy - we just happen to have a huge number of very talented people here at the moment, who are serving some of the best Spanish food outside of Spain (and, let's face it, inside of Spain as well) for a price (under £20 a head for the food above) that only the most miserly would grumble at. Yes, there are fancier, more expensive and more elaborate places to eat Spanish food, but this is a cuisine defined by its sheer variety. Surely there's Tapas Room for everyone?
We were invited to Tapas Room and didn't pay.
Tuesday, 9 May 2017
For what promised to be quite an occasion of a dinner, it's fair to say our evening at Claude Bosi at Bibendum did not get off to a great start. Arriving a few minutes before our allocated 6:30 booking (look, I like to eat early, OK?) the doorman seemed entirely unprepared for the possibility that not every guest will arrive precisely bang-on time, and ordered us into a holding-pen of an empty bar, where we sat cold and ignored as members of the downstairs staff tidied up around us until it was time to try our luck again with Mr Cheery in reception. Perhaps this is just as much Bibendum's fault as the doorman - they really need to work out where to put people who are a bit early, even just a chair in reception or being offered a glass of water or something - but even so, it hardly put us in the mood to enjoy ourselves.
Once upstairs though, safely past the bowler-hatted bouncer, the atmosphere was a lot more convivial. Firstly, and most obviously, it's an absolutely beautiful room, undoubtedly one of London's finest, and sat amongst the deep-blue stained glass windows and plush carpets even the eating of a cheese sandwich would feel like an occasion. Secondly, front of house are, each and every one of them, superb, and headed up by a guy (who's name I forget, sorry) who apparently worked for Sir Terence Conran in the same space when Bibendum first opened in the 1980s. Now that's some pedigree.
We started with cashews with malt vinegar powder. It's a sign of the amount of effort that goes into everything here that a clever cheffy technique was used on something as simple as nuts to go with your aperitif. These were obviously ridiculously addictive and I polished them off in about 30 seconds.
Next, a little bonzai olive tree with a couple of spoons of what looked at first like normal black olives. Of course, they weren't - they were very delicate frozen shells of olive juice, perhaps more impressive than delicious, but impressive nonetheless. I believe the original idea was to have them hanging off the branches of the tree itself, like a similar amuse at Catalonian gastro-temple El Cellar de Can Roca, except in early trials customers attempted to pluck the "olives" off the tree a bit enthusiastically and ended up covering themselves in black olive goo.
Then a little bowl of chicken skins and a sort of miso dip. Can't remember much about these, to be honest, but I can't imagine we left any.
These were gougère, beautifully warm and fluffy, and suitably easy to demolish. I've never met a gougère I didn't like, so they're either fairly easy to get right or only the very best operations even attempt them in the first place. I'm guessing the latter.
Miniature foie gras ice cream cones were next, expertly constructed little things, pretty as you like and dissolving in the mouth with plenty of good meaty flavour.
Next, curried pea and egg, which looked the part and no doubt took quite a lot of doing (there were multiple layers inside, of fudgy yolk, pea purée and fresh whole peas), but in which the addition of coconut rendered the whole thing a bit, well, offputting. For all I know, there is, somewhere out there, some combination of egg, coconut and fresh peas that won't make me wish I hadn't eaten it, but I'm afraid this wasn't it. Still, full marks for experimentation.
Fortunately, bread was on hand to make up for the coconut pea thing, and not just any bread - sourdough supplied by Hedone in Chiswick. It's become the Done Thing to automatically call this the best bread in London, and indeed at one time it may have been - however the competition is such now that I'm pretty sure I know a few other bakeries that could give them a run for their money. It's still great bread though, and the nice soft butter it came with was superb as well (and even better with a bit of salt on top from one of their weighty silver Bibendum cellars).
It's worth noting that at this point, we still had not been served the first of the 7 courses from the tasting menu. Whatever you think about the merits or otherwise of spending £200 on dinner, there's clearly a lot of work at Bibendum gone into providing extra bits and pieces, amuses and nibbles, and the pacing and style of service had been immaculate. I can think of a few restaurants - and one other in South Kensington in particular - where you could spend at least this and have nothing even so much as a chocolate truffle in addition to the three menu dishes you've ordered. Not so here.
So first course proper, then, was crab with elderflower jelly and sea herbs. This was, I don't mind admitting, the first time I've ever eaten crab and elderflower together, and also (not coincidentally) the first time I've eaten crab elderflower jelly. So perhaps my not being completely bowled over with it is partially the shock of the new. It got better as you dug down and the brown meat mixture at the bottom of the bowl became more prominent, but I still struggled to get past the strange floral/seafood combination. Interesting, but perhaps not an experience I'd want to repeat.
Hibiscus had a good line in asparagus dishes, and so it is here in South Kensington, with this thick meaty spear (sorry, I don't know what came over me), with a strip of confit orange peel and what's described on my menu here as "smoked hay hollandaise" but actually tasted more like a kind of thick hazelnut butter. Very nice, anyway, and I also appreciated the Claude Bosi signature knife that came with it.
It was a nice surprise on sampling this scallops with strawberry "sauce vierge" to discover that the scallops were warmed slightly; there's something about fridge-cold scallop that sets my teeth on edge, and yet in most places that's just what you get. It was also nice to discover that the herby, only faintly strawberry-led sauce that covered them was herby and complex; an attractive, and rewarding bit of seafood.
The next course was an absolute cracker - a beautiful bit of sea bream, geometrically exact with razor-sharp edges, sat on a rich morel and tarragon dressing. The fish itself, with its delicate crisp skin and firm flesh, could not be faulted, and the morel sauce was a classical and comfortable combination of flavours and textures. It's dishes like this that make rather a stronger case for tradition than outright experimentation...
Veal sweetbread, beautifully prepared with a thick, dark glaze of black garlic, was another crowdpleaser. Nothing too strange going on here, just a good slab of offal, cooked perfectly, and a pretty selection of mayonnaisey sauces to accompany it.
Then more veal - Limousin I believe, with a bit of pressed cucumber and a nice rich stock-y sauce. I'm always going to be more of a fan of protein that's been thrown on top of charcoal than teased into uniform pinkness in a waterbath, but it was still a very decent bit of baby cow, not earth-shatteringly interesting but very easy to eat.
And finally, a pea and chocolate cake, which sounds on paper like it might be the most disruptively experimentational dish of all and yet - in the face, it has to be said, of my own personal prejudices (I have a long, unhappy history with vegetables in desserts) - it turned out to be completely brilliant. The pea flavour wasn't jarringly savoury at all, it was just a faint sweet vegetal note, and the sugar levels were expertly judged as to make complete sense of it all. If I only had to eat one vegetable-as-dessert for the rest of my life, then it would have to be this one (though it's true there isn't a great deal of competition on that front).
It would have been easier in writing this post to either be able to make some blithe pronouncement to the effect that when Bibendum stuck to classical techniques and traditional flavour combinations then the dishes were more successful, or alternatively that when they had the courage of their convictions and tried something new the results were impressive. In fact, neither of these extremes are true. In end end, some of the experimentation, such as the pea and chocolate tart, was extraordinarily successful and something approaching an instant classic, while others such as the crab and elderflower, fell flat. And similarly, while the sea bream and morel dish used a tried-and-tested flavour profile to great effect, a rather humdrum bit of sous-vided veal didn't do much for me.
So it's hard to know what to say that's going to be any use really, other than it was all a bit uneven - some bits were great, other bits weren't so great, and it was all rather expensive. Actually, that sounds dismissive - it was, as I said previously, thanks to the huge number of extra bits and pieces, not cynically priced - but I don't want to end up having to use the word "uneven" on any dinner costing upwards of £200 a head, no matter how much fun I had at the time. And if someone came to me with £200 burning a hole in their pocket and asked where they should be spending it, I'm not sure Bibendum in its current form would feature very highly up the list.
But there it is, that's what a meal at Bibendum currently looks like and perhaps in the not so distant future I'll have reason to revisit and it will have really found its feet and become one of London's truly great restaurants. Until then, you're probably more likely to see me at the Ledbury or the Clove Club next time I feel like a bit of haute cuisine; it's hardly Bibendum's fault the competition in London is so fierce at the moment. But how lucky we are that it is.
Tuesday, 25 April 2017
There's a small (and it has to be said, sadly dwindling) group of restaurants in London which all offer a tasting menu (that is at least 4 courses, plus nibbles) for under £50 at dinner. I'm almost afraid to list them here in case Brexit-fuelled inflation makes a liar of by the time you read this, but at the time of print places like Picture (Marylebone and Fitzrovia), the Dairy in Clapham Common and the Manor just down Clapham High Street can all do a very - VERY - good multi-course dinner for the same price most places charge for lunch, and all come thoroughly recommended.
Hoping to join this exalted company is Anglo, a starkly trendy little spot just off Leather Lane in Farringdon, who are to be commended at the very least for offering an extraordinary amount of courses - ten if you include all the snacks - for £45. By anyone's standards this is a very decent price point, and it's this generosity of spirit - not to mention the lovely front of house - that went some way to cushioning some of the mistakes in the cooking, of which I'm afraid there were more than a couple.
It all started off well enough, though. "Mushroom & cep custard" was an interesting pile of sliced raw mushrooms, dusted with some kind of mushroom powder I think, hiding a little scoop of mushroom cream. With some good powerful flavours going on, and nicely seasoned, this was a great start.
Similarly this "burnt leek tartlet", a supremely delicate puff pastry casing containing a layer of savoury leek powder. I love things like this - a clever cheffy technique used to impressive effect, not just visually impressive but tasting great too, the powder collapsing in the mouth like candy floss into a thick, umami-rich paste.
I loved this, too, a layer of dashi gel resting on top of a few chunks of squid. The gel was just solid enough to hold its shape without being offputting, and the squid had a lovely fresh seafood flavour. Presentation was a bit odd, perhaps - thanks to the dashi being a very similar colour to the ceramic it was served in, it looked like you were being served an empty bowl at first - but still, clever stuff.
Anglo's excellent sourdough is served with something called "yeast butter", which I can best describe as being a bit like a kind of whipped Dairylea. Sorry if that doesn't do it justice, but there it is. London restaurants have had a worrying habit recently of adding ingredients to their bread & butter courses to make them as outrageously moreish as possible - great if you have the space for it, not so great if you don't have the biggest appetite in town and don't want to fill up before the main courses arrive. If you've managed to leave any of the Dairy's bone marrow butter, or the lamb fat-brushed bread at Perilla, then you're a better man than me.
White asparagus with duck egg was decent, but if I'm being brutally honest, not much more than the sum of its parts. I've never completely got the point of white asparagus; I know they go mad for it in France and Spain and I'm sure the very best examples are wonderful, but, well, so far I've always preferred the usual green. It could have all done with a bit more seasoning, too, especially the yolks.
Lack of seasoning was also the main issue afflicting the cod "Wellington". Good on paper perhaps, but a dollop of caviar was nowhere near enough salt to lift this from being a bland lump of watery fish wrapped in slimy seaweed, and I'm afraid it all ended up being rather unpleasant. A shame, really, because at the core of this dish is probably quite a good idea in need of decent execution.
Half of the lamb dish - the pink bit of (I think) roast fillet on the right there hiding beneath a sprig of fennel - was lovely; seasoned well, with a great texture and accompanied by some soft bits of artichoke. Unfortunately also on the same plate was a rock-solid-dry piece of slower-cooked (probably - look I'm just covering my back here) shoulder, underseasoned and borderline inedible. I did eat it, because I was hungry, but it wasn't very nice. There aren't really any good excuses I could come up with why a restaurant in London in 2017 shouldn't be able to properly serve lamb, so I won't try. This shouldn't have happened.
I did enjoy, however, this next course of cheese and onion mixture melting over a slice of house malt loaf, but then show me a person who doesn't like a bit of posh cheese on toast and I'll show you a person who's given up on life. This went down very well.
And then. Lemon curd and horseradish. I'll say that again, in case you think perhaps my spellchecker is playing up. Lemon. And. Horseradish. I don't want to be one of those people who turn their noses up at genuine innovation just because there's an easy amount of outrage to be wrung from it, but really, this use of savoury ingredients in desserts has just gone too far. Lemon curd - sweet, citrussy, soft - does not bloody go with bitter horseradish, it's as simple as that. It was like eating a cake that someone had dropped on the floor in the pub, and was genuinely horrible.
After washing our mouths out with Folle Blanche, we gamely carried on to the next course, chocolate and yoghurt, which was (fortunately) perfectly fine. Nothing groundbreaking or even particularly interesting, but pretty to look at and at least not containing any parsnip or yam or anything.
Then finally, a pressed coil of apple, slightly on the sour side but not overly troublingly so, and a dollop of Earl Grey ice cream which I quite enjoyed in a sort of ash-y kind of way but which my friend really struggled with. Maybe she was still trying to swill the remaining horseradish out of her system.
There was clearly plenty to criticise at Anglo, then, and indeed I have done. It's worth stressing that there was plenty to enjoy too - some courses were clearly worth the asking price, and things like the leek tartlet, the bread course and, well, one half of the lamb dish would be easy enough to recommend by themselves. The problem is that, in the evening at least, it's all or nothing, and I'm afraid to reach these treats you are forced to swallow the medicine of horseradish and lemon, and slimy cod roll, and other oddnesses. It's all a bit uneven, and unnerving.
And it's for this reason I'm afraid I struggle to wholeheartedly recommend Anglo. Their hearts may be in the right place and they may be one of the few restaurants in London offering a tasting menu for under £50, but even at that price I just didn't find enough to enjoy. Of course, if the idea of lemon and horseradish or the rest of it doesn't turn your stomach then there's every chance you could go and have the meal of your life. I'm not here to tell you what you should do, just what I would do. And I can't see myself going back.