FAT BOY TURNS FORTY: MOSAICA @ THE FACTORY
So, after HP had what was reportedly a “ spectacular” meal at The Fat Duck and I missed out on lunch at Manzi’s, you would expect we both fancied a quiet night in.
But no, last night called for a bit of a knees up to celebrate an important occasion.
From the shirt Paul “ Fat Boy” Smith was wearing, one would assume it was his coming out party. It really was an extraordinary shirt made appropriately enough by the other Paul Smith the sort of shirt that would make a child turn to its father and say “dad, is the circus in town?”
Still, it may surprise you to know that we were not there to celebrate Paul’s acceptance of his true nature, but to mark his entrance into middle age. His fortieth birthday.
His lovely and, let’s not deny it, long suffering wife, Rachael, had arranged a huge table at MOSAICA @ THE FACTORY in Wood Green ( or Crouch end if you are trying to sell your house) for nearly thirty friends and family.
It’s bloody difficult to find, being hidden away in an industrial estate, but it is well worth the effort required.
The food is solid rather than spectacular. Excellent nibbles of chicken and vegetable samosa and onion bhaji were as good as I have tried in any restaurant, Indian or otherwise. Starters of foie parfait and brandade showed that there is some real ability in the kitchen.
Main courses were more standard. Competent enough but lacking in any punch. A rib eye steak was cooked rare as ordered but had no flavour and came with more of those horrible fat chips that are becoming a blight on menus across the land.
Puddings were not very good at all and a banoffee pie was left largely untouched by most.
That being said, this is a neighbourhood place without too many pretensions. Decent cooking, very, very agreeable service (even with dealing with such a large table ) and sensible pricing counts for a lot and, in the highly unlikely event that I lived in his area, I could see myself being a regular here.
We drank far too much, I made a speech in which I think I once again described Paul as looking like Rick Moranis inflated by a bicycle pump and we watched him try to blow out all the candles on his cake ( there is a joke in there somewhere ) and a good time was had by all.
HAPPY FORTIETH FAT BOY