MISSOURI ANGEL: STEAK IN THE CITY
It was hard to believe there is a credit crunch going on as I squeezed myself into a tiny corner table at Missouri Angel near Tower Bridge. The room was filled to heaving and my host pointed gleefully at four florid faced city businessmen sitting at a table already covered in empty bottles of wine. She thought they looked like something out of an 18th Century painting, I thought they came straight from the Alex cartoon strip, in either case, to them recession was something that happened to other people and Missouri Angel was just the place to avoid it.
Missouri offers itself up as an American steakhouse. It is nothing of the sort of course, the steaks are too small for a start with 10oz being the biggest on offer. Appetizers too, in the US, are usually edible, ours were barely that with stale croutons topping off as uninspired a Caesar salad as you will ever find. It still compared favourably to a misshapen lump of a crab cake better suited to hand to hand combat than eating.
Steaks, however were where it was at and, thankfully, they were spot on, the Buccleuch beef coming exactly as ordered, in both cases medium rare so we could share. The all too rare cross hatching on my New York Strip showed someone in the kitchen who does not run whimpering from a hot grill and, although I can't find it in myself to forgive someone who thinks rubbing cajun seasoning over beef this good to be acceptable, my companion loved her blackened steak.
Sides were as good as I have tried in any London steakhouse, suitably rich creamed spinach, crunchy shoestring fries and, best of all, a bowl of tobacco onions which had us fighting silently over the last little bits at the bottom of the dish.
I was being treated, so did not see the bill, but suspect it came to £100+ for two courses, a bottle of Albarino, a good glug of calvados and service, which was sweet and efficient. Hardly a cheap lunchtime option, but I suspect the people eating here didn’t care about that and probably never will.