Hide the Sausage at Polpo

Tapasification is a good idea. Not only does it give you more choice. But it also means the spectre of food envy is forced to loom large elsewhere. The trauma of missing out on an amazing dish whilst you are tucking into something you ordered in a panic is cast aside. The only downside is that you tend to spend more money and are constantly fighting your fellow diners and deploying clandestine tactics to distract them from the last knee wobblingly seductive morsel.

So well done Polpo for popping up. An Italian, sorry Venetian, tapas, sorry bacari, joint is just what we needed. Being British we rather enjoyed the queue and less than charming welcome from the barman. It made us feel comfortable and fortunate to be allowed to eat in their restaurant. We quickly resorted to rudimentary sign language in order to communicate given that the noise, sorry, buzz was so loud, sorry vibrant.

To our enormous excitement we were seated on a table next to none other than Charles “Dinner-Party-Average” Campion and a companion. Cowie could barely contain herself as she rubber necked as if she was studying the fine detail of a particularly interesting car crash. Our waiter helpfully pointed out that he was a food critic who likes the food so much that he lets the kitchen cook him whatever they feel like.

If this wasn’t a debossed wax seal of approval then nothing is. Inspired by Campion and his insatiable appetite we threw ourselves into our task of eating as if there were medals at stake.

Arancini were texturally accomplished and a triumph of what some would call subtlety and others blandness. Chopped liver on toast was loamy but under-seasoned. Salt cod on grilled polenta was far more interesting causing me to hide the second half of it behind a wine bottle. Spratti in soar were the least popular, but that’s fine by me because I rather liked them. I chuckled as I thought of them as the Mini Me to Mackerel’s Dr. Evil.

And just as I thought this is all good without being thrilling, out came some pizzetta bianca. Like Dawn French in a Philadelphia advert I tried to mask my look of greedy glee as I chewed my first bite, spluttering to the others not to eat it because it tasted horrible. But they didn’t fall for it! I’ve been pining for some ever since reading Jeffrey Steingarten’s ode to pizza bianca. It’s a very simple dish. And in many ways the epitome of pure Italian food. It consists of a perfect pizza base that has a specific degree of thinness. According to the chaps at Wikipedia it is “topped with olive oil, salt and, occasionally, rosemary sprigs”. It is then cooked very quickly and served without any fuss or accoutrements. There is an outside chance I enjoyed the idea of this dish as much as the real thing. But either way my debut was a thrill that has inspired me to explore the real thing in Rome.

Main dishes ranged from the excellent calf’s liver, flank steak and polpette to the decent pork belly and polpette. I found myself playing hide the sausage with the Cotechino. Mackerel tartare almost gave me a funny turn and fritto misto was crispy and well fried but bordered on tasteless. Slow cooked duck was inexplicably dry – if it was an actor you’d describe it as wooden. Two vegetarian dishes outshone most of their meaty table companions – a creamy slew of pumpkin again found itself cowering behind a wine bottle which was soon joined by the remnants of the wet polenta and some expertly roasted vegetables.

To finish we shared two rather ill conceived desserts – a semifreddo in a cone and a hot chocolate soup which were a bit of an afterthought. Maybe an affogato or just an espresso would have been a better idea. But it wasn’t all bad in the pudding department – Cowie’s almond tart was sensational.

Throughout our meal the service was swift, assured and helpful. I’ve only got two complaints but they are about the sludgy brown ceiling and crappy loos. But who cares about that when the atmosphere is so alive, and the food is so interesting. Charles Campion obviously doesn’t. And how can I not love the restaurant that plucked my pizza bianca cherry.

Sketch Gallery – An Advertising Agency in Disguise?

“Arrive with an open mind and imagine, if you will, a painting that never dries” – (Mark Lawson Bell-Artistic Director)

Sketch is one of the most creative places I’ve been to. More playful than most art galleries. More imaginative than most theatre productions. And as creative as any advertising agency I’ve been involved with. Sketch is an art gallery, bar, living room, tea shop, restaurant, bonkers water closet and catwalk rolled into one. If you are the kind of person who likes ideas you’ll love it. You’ll drink it in and ask for more.

We were greeted by the most charming Maitre D’ we have ever encountered. Nothing was too much trouble and everything was done with a twinkle in the eye. He showed us around the whole building including being allowed to peak into the Lecture Room where a handful of lucky people were tucking into some Michelin starred food…

On our tour we fell in love with their eccentric taste in art. In particular the sculpture of two dogs going at it hammer and tongs and the glitter ball girl with syringes sticking out of her head! The whimsical art sets the tone for the creative food that we were to discover in the Gallery.

We were given the best seats in the restaurant with full view over everything. It was like being a dictator watching your troops do a big parade… except the troops were all girls and rather more glamorous than what your normally see on Newsnight. We sipped more champagne as a big ball bounced around the white walls, projected on the bare white walls. The Gallery is a blank canvas that is brought alive by a series of projectors that captures Mark Lawson Bell’s opening statement. Apparently the previous projection of an irritable fly sent everyone a bit mad!

The bread was so good that Cowie tucked in too. The fact that it was served in a basket made of Lego had me almost in tears with giddy joy. It transported me straight back to my childhood memories of messing around for hours, days, months and years with multi coloured bricks and little men with arms that don’t move very well. “Little touches” like this aren’t just good ideas they are moments of genius that have been dreamt up by someone who understands the way the mind works and should really work in advertising. I vaguely remember the bread being good (and if it hadn’t been the whole thing would have imploded), but it’s the Lego basket that has stayed with me. And the message encoded in the Lego basket is of playfulness and creativity.

Our starters were works of art that tasted almost as good as they looked.

Tahiti – ceviche of grouper, barramundi & red snapper marinated in coconut milk & lime was a platter of firm fish textures that aims to transport you to Tahiti, not that I’ve ever wanted to go. It was cool, light and full of tropical tones. Maybe it should have been called a Pina Colada though.

Cowie’s “Red Tuna” was a giggle. What we thought was tuna turned out to be watermelon! And then when the tuna was served it was soft and fiendishly good. Not sure we should be eating tuna though. Tut tut.

A shared bowl of ravioli with a chicken and gorgonzola broth was superb. The waiter almost refused to let us have them because he wanted them for himself. I couldn’t help myself from pouring more sauce over my pasta from a silver tea pot that I wanted Cowie to sneak into her handbag!

For some reason I chose beef tartare (diced rib-eye with mustard, gherkins, spring onions, capers, egg mollet, Espelette pepper, parsley, fondant potato, fresh spicy tomato). Get raw beef wrong and it’s not only dangerous, but also highly unpleasant. The next tartare I eat is going to have to be very good to beat this one.

Mediterranean cod was great fun. We almost sent the plate back at first as it looked like a mozzarella and tomato salad. But as Cowie started playing we realised that the soft white cheese was actually cod and the olives were dark green gnocchi. The dish had been styled by someone who likes to tease! The fish flaked. The dark green gnocchi were soft but had bite. It was a beautiful dish that reinforced sketch’s reputation for cooking fish.

Cowie loved Malabar. It is a dessert that has been inspired by a brand of French bubblegum. It’s one of the stars of the menu, but given that I don’t like bubblegum it isn’t for me.

My Cadiz was a brilliant rhubarb and orange number. It came with some rhubarb marmalade and shards of glassy rhubarb sticking out of some ice cream. Not only was it beautiful, but it acted as a giant palette cleanser. Any residual beefiness from the tartare was replaced by a feeling of freshness. It has inspired me to make some rhubarb marmalade.

Despite our banquet being at an end, the fun hadn’t stopped. My espresso was served in a flexible coffee cup that had a touch of Dali about it. And as for the Dr Evil loos… wow! I’ll let the pictures do the talking.

It wasn’t just a meal. It was a Hollywood assault on the senses. An uber-camp-experience that was fizzing with creativity and glamour. At sketch the idea comes first and then everything follows, just as it does in an ad agency. Rather than a kitchen it has a creative department. But it also comes with a bill so abrasive it is delivered in a sandpaper envelope. Luckily we’d taken advantage of their £50 off voucher on their facebook fan page and had held back on wine so whilst being so expensive it could cause a run on the Pound, was a fair price at 140 quid. Especially when you consider that the sketch experience means tickets for the theatre, art gallery and entry to a nightclub aren’t necessary.

Eating at sketch is like being a client and turning up to an advertising agency such as Mother where they will blow you away with their bonkers ideas and slick presentation and then send you an embarrisingly large bill. And sometimes their ideas will be full of hot air and hopeless. But because they are so fresh and original you’ll pay the bill and tell your friends to go there too. Sketch – are you an advertising agency in disguise?

All the photos are from a nice person at sketch.

Disappointing Bentley’s

I posed the question “Bentley’s or Scott’s?” on Twitter and got a mixed response. Chris was adamant that Scott’s was the right option and others thought Bentley’s was a good choice. Rather liking the idea of having a Valentine’s Eve meal on Swallow Street, I went for Bentley’s.

With a bounce in our step Cowie and I sauntered past Gaucho, where we had enjoyed a clumsily, high handed meal some time ago, and into the romantic reception area at Bentley’s. The sound of the piano welcomed us in like the sirens who destroyed the lives of many ancient sailors. Beguiled by the slightly too loud piano and modern day Melpomene, we asked whether it was possible to have a glass of champagne at the bar before dinner. Given that we were early and that they stood to make more money out of us, we were shocked that we were denied. Apparently, tables needed turning! Rather taken aback I became more forceful changing the question to a statement of fact.

We enjoyed our champagne enormously – probably because it was illicit. Its peachy tones and almost creamy fizz restored our optimism and set the tone for the meal ahead.

Having finished our champagne we were led to an excellent table by our fabulous waiter (whose name I tried to remember but have forgotten). The dining room upstairs is well proportioned and decorated with padded fabric which takes all the aggression out of peoples’ voices and delivers a wonderful buzz. It allows you to hear your companion perfectly whilst hinting at the presence – the aural equivalent of spotlights. Paintings of various fish adorn the padding in a way that distinguishes this from an asylum.

Deciding what to eat was more tricky than normal. So to ease the task we ordered half a dozen Maldon natives and a bottle of Muscadet in what was to be an ongoing homage to my Grandfather.

I’ve had many good oysters in the last few years at Wrights, in Whitstable, at the Royal Well Tavern and in France but there is no doubt that these were the best I have ever eaten. Their flesh was textured almost like raw fillet of beef and their flavour was like someone had distilled the essence of the sea. The attention to detail was immaculate. The shells had been scrubbed to ensure no grit gets in the way of the textural nirvana. And they were shucked to perfection. A dash of shallot vinegar completed the perfect way to start our Valentine’s Eve.

Our minds were made up for us by our waiter. Cowie asked for his advice, and unusually, took it, by ordering a Singapore crab and mussel soup followed by steamed sole with langoustines and courgettes which I can remember seeing on Great British Menu. I went for the squid stuffed with chorizo followed by a Dover sole.

Cowie’s soup was full of freshness and vitality. But was shockingly almost empty of crab and mussels. A meagre three small mussel shells emerged from the half eaten bowl. And there was no physical trace of any crab at all. After such an incredible start with the oysters this was a major let down.

My baby squid stuffed with chorizo and feta came with a beautifully naughty butter, garlic and parsley sauce and brought a sizeable smile to my face. The stuffing was gorgeous. Full of flavour and colour. My only concern was the slightly chewy nature of the squid. At this level you expect silky softness and near zero resistance. It was a hint of what was to come.

The hit and miss saga continued with our main courses except in reverse. Cowie’s steamed sole fillets, arrived looking like an extra from London fashion week, with courgette strips giving the torpedo structural support. A scattering of langoustines finished the dish. It was light, sympathetically cooked, subtle and in short, masterful. I half expected to look up and see Cowie transformed into Jenny Bond!

My Grandfather is a huge fan of seafood and always orders Dover sole whenever he has the chance. I’ve inherited his love of what he describes as the Queen of fish and have a similar knee jerk reaction to it when I see it on a menu. Except that I normally can’t afford it! He always asks for it to be left on the bone and takes great pride in performing the laparotomy himself.

When my sole arrived I winced and sent it back saying that I had asked for it to be left on the bone. It arrived back moments later with the waiter pointing out, very politely, that I was either blind or an idiot. It was still on the bone. It lay lifeless on my large white plate, tinged with a buttery brown glow. For £33.50 it looked mean. As if the other half was still in the kitchen. My mood was darkened when I started operating. The flesh, which should have yielded, resisted. Rather than being moist and juicy parts of it were dry. I mumbled my way through it and checked I was right with Cowie that I hadn’t all of a sudden become useless.

I’ve had many great Dover sole experiences hanging onto my Grandfather’s coat-tails but this one was a grave disappointment and sullied the whole meal. When our waiter asked what we thought of our main courses I told him that the chef had overcooked the most expensive fish on the menu and I was very disappointed. He emerged 5 minutes later to tell me that chef hadn’t overcooked the fish! Well maybe he hadn’t and it had been the hot lamps on the pass that had ruined it. Either way, it was seriously below standard for one of London’s top fish restaurants.

Stumped by this we eschewed dessert and contemplated our meal over a coffee instead, remarking that their chocolate truffles were too cold! Looking around the restaurant we saw numerous empty tables which made us feel even more irritated that the maître d’ had tried to force us to our table early.

On our ride back to Balham we tried to tease our experience apart. At £170 it was the most expensive meal we have indulged in together in London. And it most certainly wasn’t the best. It was littered with flaws that all were the result of a lack of attention to detail in just the same way that Gaucho had next door. Poor front of house, stingy starter for Cowie, overcooked sole/steak for my main course. Maybe this is a quirk of expensive West End restaurants. Or more specifically it is almost as if Richard Corrigan has taken his eye of Bentley’s whilst he is focussing on getting Corrigan’s off the ground. Surely if his attention had been on Bentley’s our experience would have been the highlight of the year we had been hoping for.

As it happens, our Valentine’s Day breakfast at Heston’s Little Chef the next morning more than made up for Bentley’s clumsiness. As Chris has pointed out since, I should have taken his advice!

Cha Cha Moon, W1

Firstly, I must apologies to regular readers of the Paunch, for my lack of posts over recent weeks, or dare I say it… months. Work, revision, triathlons and general wear and tear is my only excuse!

And so lets turn to the interesting bit.. the food, and in this case cheap, efficient fast Chinese food in the heart of the West End.

When I first read about Cha Cha I was extremely excited. Since I was on a another carbo mission before the Blenheim Triathlon, it seemed only fitting to feast on copious amounts of noodles and other Chinese goodies.

The set up is very much like your standard Wagmamas, but this place certainly has abit more style and snazz. Once seated, the service was efficient and helpful.. even if Browny and I had trouble concluding what sex our waitress/waiter was!

The food… £3.70 for everything.. yes everything.

Its simple concept and one that works, but inevitably you are tempted to order far for than really necessary. To accompany our delicious green tea, we selected a mix of goodies… a soup, a steam noodle dish, a smoked dish, a fried noodle dish all with either duck, pork, beef or prawns, plus some dim sum style dumplings .. which were by far and way the star of the show.

For me the food was fair. No, on reflection it was good, but there is certainly room for improvement. Some of the rich sauces where abit gloopy, the soup was lack depth and flavour, some of the noodles were over cooked and on occasions the meat was a touch on the tough side.

But that said, this a great place for a quick feed to fill you up. The place was buzzing, full of trendy media esk customers all enjoying themselves.

I don’t think it will ever win awards for its food, but if you after some quick, cheap, pretty Chinese grub this place will definitely work for you.

Gaucho Grill

Victoria and Alex gave us a very good pre meal analysis. Expect glitz and glamour; immaculate mear; slick service; steep prices; good chips. But occassionaly watch out for inconsistent service, greasy vegetables and listen to how you should have your steak.

Armed with this wealth of advice it all seemed to correct as we shown to our table amongst a dark and sultry dining room. A huge space, crawling with money and girls who had spent hours getting ready and men who were about to spend a fortune.

We settled in and were shown the array of steaks on a wooden board. The waitress gabbled through the description so rapidly we didn’t catch a word she said. But Victoria had given us a good sumamry so we weren’t too fussed. I ordered a 400g lump of rib eye which the waitress advised me to have medium. I insisted that it should be pink and she said it would be. Cowie ordered a trout ceviche and a prawn and palm heart salad.

The trout ceviche wasn’t. It was a collection of three generous slices of cured trout. But it hadn’t been cured in citric acid. Now I am clearly no Peruvian but I did think that lemon or lime juice was the central ingredient. A bit like ordering toast and getting bread. It was very tasty, just a bit of a problem for anyone who gets annoyed by misdescriptions.

Then onto the main show. The warm up was over and the headline act was taking the stage. My mega steak arrived with great cermeony. Lots of bernaise. Some chips. A big hunk of….

O dear….

Massively overcooked steak. Grey and rigid it stood lifeless like those a performance artist in Covent Garden. And the chips were cold.

We called over the waitress with a smile and a firm look. She whisked it away and told the chef to cook a fresh one. Meanwhile Cowie devoured her prawn and palm heart salad. It was tasty but incredibly stingy. Cowie counted six medium sized prawns. And then realised that they had all been sliced in half so she had actually only had 3! Three prawns! Not good enough.

10 minutes later my replacement steak arrived. I could hear it mooing as it arrived. As I sliced it in half I could hear the staff collectively sigh with relief. Or maybe I could hear myself. It was tender, juicy and tasted of animal. You could really taste the beef. A delightful piece of meat. The bernaise sauce was fantastic but the second bowl of chips were as cold as the first. Disappointing.

Our carafe of Malbec was delicious. But we didn’t need it pouring for us. If you are given a jug of wine the protocol is that you pour it yourself. Cowie only wanted one glass. Having finished her first glass the waitress steamed over and agressively filled it to the brim leaving me with 3/4 of a steak to eat with no wine. Yet another irritant. Cowie and I swapped glasses. But we shouldn’t have had to.

Scanning the room we completely agreed that this is one of the best restaurants we have been to for people spotting. Over Cowie’s left shoulder was a girl tarted up to the nines wearing a short black dress, some scary heels with a tattoo on her foot. The both fesated on well done steaks whilst drinking glasses of rose topped up to the brim. Kissing and fondling their way through the meal they were having a great time.

It’s also great fun to watch the chef at work on the grill. With an earpiece wedged into the side of his head I was surprised he managed to completely balls up my steak.

It was one of the best steaks I have had in London. But given that the first was awful the overall mark averages out as being well below par. Add to that Cowie’s measly prawn salad and the abysmal service and you’ve got glitzy money trap. Give me the steaks we had in Buenos Aires or the USA anyday.

Silk

Image from Flickr – fdecomite

Gilly and I hadn’t seen each other for far too long, so we had a look on Top Table and found a few 50% and 2 for 1 offers to decide between. An hour or so later we had decided to pay Silk on Great Marlborough Street a visit.

Their concept is pretty interesting: they serve a range of dishes from along the ancient silk trading route. A mix between Indian, Middle and Far Eastern cuisine with a of sibtle spicing and dishes with amusing names.

Neither of us could find the restaurant to begin with. This isn’t helped by the map they provide on their website. Neither is it helped by the lack of any prominent signage outside. Probably the result of some weird planning restrictions. It’s tucked away inside a hotel so needless to say the restaurant was empty.

Gilly and I settled down and immediately started chatting only to be interupted in order to be told about the concept and how old the room was. Given that we were in mid conversation and that we had read about the fact that the dining room is located in an old courtroom on the Top Table and Silk website, we really didn’t need to be told again. This kept happening throughout the meal which was annoying.

We shared both of our starters and main courses… the scallops with a zesty foam were succulent and accurately cooked. The zingy foam was tremendous. It made for a fantastic change from cauliflower or pea puree.

My medium rare venison was more medium well than medium rare which was odd because they made quite a fuss of telling me how their chef was going to cook it. Putting that to one side, like Gilly did with a stray peanut on his plate, the venison was very cleverly spiced and accompanied by a cheeky green sauce. The best thing about my starter was the name. I simply couldn’t resist a dish called “Jangli Maan”.

Main courses were good too. My lamb chops were accurately cooked. Singed on the outside and juicy in the middle. They had been marinaded delicately in a range of yoghurty spices. Not much heat, but a lot of flavour. I wish I had a better grasp of Easter flavours so I could tell you what it involved… but I don’t!

Gilly’s vast wild tiger prawns were sweet and juciy. Well cooked once more and full of interesting and slightly unexpected flavours.

The food is really very good. But the atmosphere and service are both big negative factors. There’s probably a reason that courtrooms are unusual in the restaurant business. They remind you of school dining rooms and the prospect of being in prison. Neither school’s nor prisons have a great reputation for fine food… apart from that one in Italy of course.

If it hadn’t been on a 2 for 1 offer from Top Table it would have been very expensive, but this way it made for a great chance to catch up and try some interesting food. Neither of us could see this one staying around for very long. So get here whilst you can, or wait for the next one which will probably be called Phoenix.

Ah, but it’s so good!

When I heard Miles was coming to London I immediately started thinking of a suitable restaurant. It needed to be somewhere in the West End. Somewhere with British food, a lively atmosphere and a good atmosphere. Having loved Wild Honey it seemed a natural choice to opt for Arbutus.

Cowie checked the menu and predicted that I would chose scallops, pork belly and then the custard tart! This was disastrous because it was exactly what I wanted, but I couldn’t possibly just fall into line! So I chose differently. And I’m glad I did!

My porchetta with apple sauce and cress wasn’t what I was expecting; very thin slices of roast pork with a warm apple sauce and peppery leaves. Miles had some poached salmon that had been caressed onto his plate and very delicately cooked. It was as soft and moist as it was rich and pink. A stunning work of art on the plate.

My rabbit was moist, gamey, soft and very interesting. It came with a confit of rabbit shoulder casoulet with a truffle mashed potato topping. Quite a mouthful to type let alone eat. It was stunning. A rich, warming friend for my rabbit. The fact that I forgot about it until I finished my rabbit just made it taste even better!

Miles has a sensational looking shin of veal. The sauce shimmered and blinked like a celebrity at the Oscars. It was deep, comforting and beautifully presented.

Miles finished with a rhibarb jelly and I rather greedily couldn’t resist the chocolate soup which was, as you might expect, pretty rich! The rhibarb on the other hand was light and sparkling with flavour.

We loved the atmosphere, which had a very lively vibe. Loads of 20 and 30 somethings having fun after work. Prices aren’t too horific and the wine list is both fun and accessible given their caraffe policy. I’m looking forward to finding another excuse to come here!

Pre Valentine’s Day Roka Extravaganza

I had promised to take Cowie to Tsunami in Clapham for our pre-Valentine’s day meal. But I never booked it. Instead I was really sneaky and booked us into Roka which we had wanted to go to for ages.

We’ve got a history of trying to surprise each other but we normally either get too excited and spill the beans too early or the we see through each other and guess! But not this time. I managed to get Cowie hook line and sinker.

We met on Charlotte Street and went for a casual drink in a pub next to Finos and guzzled down some wine that meant we saved a few quid rather than paying through the nose in “Tsunami/Roka”. The more time passed the more itchy Cowie’s feet became until it was pretty obvious we couldn’t make it to Clapham in time for our booking at Tsunami.

I smiled at Cowie and explained my surprise, but before I could say where we were going instead she had guess it! That’s the closest I’ve got to surprising her properly!

We pottered up to Roka with a very bouncy spring in our steps: partly to do with the booze, a bit to do with the excitement of the surprise and also because we had been dying to go to Roka ever since we heard of it.

You can always tell it’s going to be a good meal when we ask to move seats and are plonked in the best spot. This time we were moved from the goldfish bowl seats by the window to prime real estate at the central bar overlooking the chefs doing their BBQing. It’s a great site to see such amazing chefs cooking live in front of you. It must be a great way of getting people to buy extra things just because they see them being cooked! Flames. Action. Food porn!

After gasping at the price of the set menu we soon realised that we would be better off going off piste and constructing our own meal. Who needs vegetarian dishes when these guys are so good at fish and meat.

We kicked off with some yellow fin tuna tataki which was light, fresh, zingy and beautfiully textured. The only question mark we had next to it was the way it tasted very strongly of the kind of bad pre-ground pepper you got at school.

Then came some well salted edamame and otoro tuna sashimi which was delicious. By far the best I’ve ever had. I love the feel of it as it almost disolves in your mouth. Who needs teeth when you’ve got otoro!

Cowie’s miso soup with scallops was a great success too. Warming, delicately flavoured and very subtle. It’s a great broth that is as full of unami as it is lacking in colour. Pale and unasumming. But very pleasant indeed.

Things got really exciting when our grilled quail with a tart plum compote arrived. The meat was beautifully charred and almost raw. There’s nothing quite like a bit of medium rare poultry to divide opinion. In this instance it was sensational. But I know a lot of people would have complained. The plum lifted the sweetness of the quail and cut through the oily skin leaving your mouth craving more. What a shame quails are so small!

If we thought our quail was good, the salmon teryaki took us up to another level. It was only £10 but was the best thing we ate. The salmon flesh was almost raw and fell apart at the very sight of a chopstick. The teryaki sauce was rich, dark and deep. The skin was crispy and a shinning example to the entire world about how to cook fish skin. There are few finer tastes than properly cooked fish skin. Gorgeous.

Beef and asparagus skewers were very vanilla. Perfectly fine but Wags do them just as well for less. And yuzu soy tuna was a bit dry but I enjoyed my first experience of yuzu. Kind of like tangerine but a lot more expensive!

We boycotted the wine and instead had green tea which meant that we spent well under £100 and left feeling perfectly full, deleriously happy and super keen to come back.

Fortnum & Mason Fountain Resturant

When a client emailed me back in November saying he wanted to take us out to lunch I was pretty excited, especially as he suggested we went to Fortnums. When I think of the iconic food hall I think of tradition, style, immaculate service, ‘Britishness’ and endless crowds. I assumed all these factors would feed through to the restaurants too.

Well, as we arrived our first obstacle was to find a member of staff to stop and talk to us. Then when we did track one down they insisted our clients hadn’t booked a table… all abit of a commotion really!

Once things were sorted it wasn’t long before we were offered a delicious selection of fresh bread and we placed our order. Whenever I see the words souffle on a menu my eyes light up with glee, and I’m a particular fan of savory ones for a starter. The double baked goats cheese souffle was an absolute blinder; a light fluffy texture, crisp exterior and goatie as it gets! The only down side is that is it was MASSIVE.. I could only manage just over half.

The others opted for garlic wild mushrooms… simple and well executed.

I did feel somewhat cheeky when I ordered the most expensive thing on the menu for my main; even more expensive than the lobster! It was roasted Halibut on the bone and it was truly delicious.

I was abit surprised when my colleague Holly who also had the cheese souffle then chose yet another eggy classic for her main course… Eggs Benedict, and my word it looked sensational… plump poached eggs with fluorecent yellow yokes piled high on top of plenty of honey glazed ham, think and crunchy toasted muffins, and finally the wicked hollandise sauce. Browny and I have seen a fair few epic Benedict’s over last couple of months and this one would certainly make the top 3!

Whenever I go out to lunch with work I always have to be careful not to over drink but also not to overeat… Or I am in danger or genuinely falling asleep at my desk! Therefore I was very good a resisted the yummy selection of puds. Holly had 3 fab mini hot mince pies and custard. They were so good she popped into the food hall afterwards to take some home with her. However she soon had other ideas when she realised that a pack on 10 mini mince pies cost £10!!

It was a fun and tasty afternoon. The restaurant itself is pretty dated, with the average customer pushing 65 yrs old. But for convenience and a work lunch it certainly fits the bill. The service was somewhat disappointing but could be forgiven with such a busy lunch time. Will I be taking Browny back? Umm maybe…. but there are plenty of others places I chose before coming back here.

Ping Pong, Gt Marlborough Street

Photo from Tzutzu from Flickr.

Cowie is as fanatical about Ping Pong’s dim sum as she is about dressage and country houses… The love affair started in Hong Kong when we first started going out. So whenever we pop to Ping Pong for a quick bite to eat we get transported back to the summer of 2005.

The wettest June on record in Hong Kong.
Cowie getting offered a job at Knight Frank.
The Lions being humiliated by New Zealand.
Dragon boat racing.
Me working for Ogilvy.
Incredible seafood on Lamma Island.
Sensational views from our appartment.
Even better views from the Peninsula Hotel on Kowloon side.
Reflexology.
Steep hills.
No space.
Claustrophobia.
Excitement.
Tea.
Shark fin soup.
Silver chopsticks.
Dim Sum.

Dim Sum literally means “touch the heart” or “order to your heart’s content”. And this is exactly the ethos of Ping Pong. You queue up politely for a table, have a killer cocktail and then get buzzed to your table where should order some of the tea where the ball opens out into a flower!

Tick what you want on the list and then wait for the bamboo steamers to arrive full of goodies. Everything we’ve had has been great. Our only criticisms are that everything arrives in 3s which always means someone either scoffs too much or has too little. And secondly that the First Emperor’s Treasure sounded amazing but turned out to be a bit mundane. Not bad. Just not as awesome as it sounded!

To get a view of how the whole place runs check out the video below that explains everything!

We’ll be back time and time again. If only they’d open one in Balham or on the Northcote Road!