THE ESTABLISHMENT: NEW NAME SAME RESULT

A few months ago, I ventured South of the river for lunch at a new place called Broome & Delancey, which modelled itself on a Manhattan eatery. I travelled more in hope than anticipation and returned home in misery after a meal that, quite frankly sucked.

It seems I was not the only one to think so as now, such a short time later, the restaurant has been re-branded as The Establishment, sister to a restaurant of the same name in Parsons Green and owned, I was told by the front of house, by the same people as Broome & Delancey. Still with me? Now, its aim is, it appears, to ape an American steakhouse.

I arrived before my friend, fellow food blogger, Chris Pople and was shown to a tiny table in the back room where the subdued lights just about allowed me to read the menu and over loud music did its best to distract me as I nibbled on some rather good warm bread and olive oil.

By the time Chris arrived a few minutes later, I had already made my choice and he was not long in catching up.

The blogger curse of taking pictures of every bite of food that passes our lips obviously did not cause Chris any consternation as he was doing the same thing, and, for once, it was not likely to bother anyone else as the management had a photographer in taking pictures, no doubt for their website.

My starter was picture worthy, a very decently made Chicken Liver & Foie parfait, well seasoned, attractively presented with some toasted walnut & raisin bread and perhaps only requiring the counterpoint of some cornichons or pickled garlic to make it worth £6.50.

Chris’s Brown Shrimp & New Potato salad was a flop however, the shrimp strangely flavourless, needing a hit of lemon juice to bring out their true taste and the potatoes being cold just adding lumps of starch. Serving the potatoes slightly warm could have lifted the salad and I am certainly glad neither of us contemplated £9 for a main course portion.

I had pondered on the T-Bone, even though at 16oz, it is slightly miserly, but was persuaded by Chris to join him in the 26oz rib of beef for two and he in turn was persuaded by me to have it rare rather than medium rare. The beef is trumpeted as being aged for 45 days and coming from Orkney. The place bothers me not at all, it could have been raised on Clapham Common if it tasted OK, but I was surprised given the ageing that the little flavour we could both discern came from the outside char rather than the meat itself. In the end, it just became a slightly dull slog to clear the meat from the central board on which it was served.

Sauces were passable, the Bearnaise better than the Green Peppercorn and a side of Spring Greens underwhelming. The chips, to their credit, were not fat and were served piping hot and properly seasoned.

A Dinastia Vivanco from Rioja, which Chris had enjoyed before, worked with the meal perfectly well, but at £30 (for a £10 retail, Chris told me) just demonstrated the depressing 200% mark up level that seems to be the norm these days.

With no pudding, but a brandy for Chris, we requested the bill, which was brought to the table in a cute little envelope bearing the words “The Damage” I am sure that was done with a huge amount of irony, but the pain was real when we opened it and saw the tab of £100 we had managed to construct with two courses, one bottle of wine and service which was charming if slightly harried in the buzzing dining room.

“Any place that is half decent will do well around here” Chris added as we left and he is right, The Establishment already looks like it is doing well. He is also right that it is half decent, unfortunately, the half that was decent did not include the only bit that mattered in a steakhouse, beef with any flavour.

BROOME & DELANCEY: AT CROSS STREET PURPOSES IN BATTERSEA

I always get a dread shiver when I read of a new London opening claiming to combine “Parisian glamour with New York vitality” The last time someone had the temerity to make this comparison, I ended up at St Germain in Farringdon having one of the worst meals of recent times.

Now it’s the turn of South London and Broome & Delancey, a brand new brasserie in Battersea, to trumpet itself as London’s answer to that thing that New York does so well, even taking upon itself the name of two of The Lower East Side’s most well known streets.

Unfortunately, the name is about its only link with New York, because despite its hubris, Broome & Delancey has more in common with St Germain than it does with Balthazar or Pastis.

The same vast amount of money has apparently been spent on the cavernous dining room with its leather booths and tiled floors and the same thought has gone into constructing a menu that has all the necessary staples for Manhattan brasserie dining, including Coq Au Vin, steak, duck confit and salads alongside small plates and sandwiches

If only the same attention to detail went into the cooking. The chef at Broome & Delancey is the wonderfully named Canadian, Wyatt Shevloff who, their website tells me, has travelled extensively. Judging by the food that passed in front of me, his mind is either still on its travels or he left his cooking chops out on the road, because I was presented with two shoddy versions of simple but classic dishes.

I am a great fan of the American style shrimp cocktail and made well, with plump shrimp and a fiery sauce combining ketchup, mayonnaise and horseradish it is a glorious thing. Here, an acceptable amount of fresh crayfish was doused in a sauce that resembled Kensington Gore and tasted oddly musty as it leaked down into the shreds of gem lettuce at the bottom of the dish.

A hamburger too can be a wonderful thing, good quality meat, proper fresh accompaniments and the delivery system of a decent bun. Broome & Delancey’s version came on poor quality bread, which still managed to have more texture than the meat. The beef came cooked closer to well done than the ordered medium, the over charring from the grill hidden under a tough blanket of stringy cheese. The crunch of raw onion could have helped, but instead a sugary, sweet brown slick slid off to mix with one of the most shameful attempts at a side salad I have encountered in a long time.

Any leeway I might have given for the fact that they had been open for less than a week was lost when I realised I was the only one in the place to demand the kitchen’s attentions and because one of the staff told me that they had been full every night since opening, so the cooks should have had enough practice by now. This is hardly rocket science and you can find short order cooking of a better standard than this in diners on just about every corner of Manhattan.

The bill, including a bottle of mineral water and service, which was efficient and good-humoured came to £20.

So, not quite a little bit of New York in Battersea then, but with its mediocre take on classic brasserie cooking, Broome & Delancey is all to depressingly mid-level London dining.

THE BUTCHER & GRILL: NEITHER ONE NOR THE OTHER

There are lots of bad restaurants in London. Lots of them. But, The Butcher & Grill abuses the privilege. It may have only been open two weeks but it has to go high up on the list of places to be avoided like one would the opportunity to deep throat a Bubo victim. It’s that horrible.

London, it seems finds it incapable of offering a decent steak. Oh, there is Santa Maria and a couple of Pope’s Eye’s but they are all located in places that decent people don’t want to tread to often. The rest? They may offer meat of decent provenance but, to quote Woody Allen, such small portions.

A few weeks ago, after a great Sunday lunch at Ransome’s Dock, Dos Hermanos sauntered past The Butcher & Grill. It was having a pre opening “ Family and Friends” day. The principle seemed sound. A butcher out front and a grill room in the back. Kind of like the places I have been to near the slaughterhouse in Brussels where you choose a chunk of meat, they grill it and serve with chips and a glass of beer. Nothing better.

HP had his doubts, but I thought it was worth a try even if it was a schlep from home. So, when a chum invited me to join him tonight, I gave it a go. Once again, HP was right. London, again, has just got it terribly wrong. This restaurant not just misses the point of what it should be offering, it gets in a car and drives fifty miles in the wrong direction to make sure if misses the point. I just can’t get over how bad it was.

After an “ interesting” journey around some of the industrial estates of South London, we arrived and parked just in time for our 8.30pm reservation and hd chance to look at a fairly sorry looking butchery counter and display. Now, I did not expect The Ginger Pig, but the quality of the meat here looked very mediocre. Pork with a thin layer of fat, flaccid looking veal and bright red beef.

We were shown to what must be the smallest table for two I have ever encountered. A table that even my four year old niece would have been hard pressed to use to host one of her imaginary tea parties. The gaps between the table were tiny too which proved interesting when my sturdy friend tried to squeeze in so he could see the rest of the room like a girly would want to.

Then came a 15 minute wait for anyone to come and take our order. This happened to me once at a solo lunch in NYC. I got so pissed off that I actually phoned the front desk to request a server which certainly got their attention. I begged my friend to do the same tonight, but, just before we thought the delay permitted such oafishness on our part, our server arrived.

She was chirpy if slightly misinformed. We had had plenty of time to look at the menu and I was chuffed to see a 20oz T- Bone on there. My dreams of a decent piece of dead cow were crushed though by the news that the T-Bone was off, Instead, I had to order a miserably small 8oz rib eye. I asked for it rare and with a char. “Black & Blue?” she asked “ why yes” I replied suddenly delighted that she at least knew the right language of steak. But, running a grill room and being out of the main event so your punters have to settle for second best is like running a whorehouse and then sending the guys into a room to do their own thing with a copy of the Victoria Secret catalogue. I CAN DO THAT AT HOME !! It cost less and I don’t have to come South of the river.

I asked if I could order a larger cut of the other steaks but was told that this was out of the question. It certainly was as by this time, the butcher bit was closing. I guess they just change the name to The Grill then.

My friend ordered the Barnsley chop. When he asked for it rare, he was informed that “ we can’t serve our pork rare” Mmm? That’s all well and good but a Barnsley Chop is Lamb. The opening two weeks did not include staff training then?

To begin with, I ordered a Duck Rillette while my chum ordered Dry cured bacon with broad beans. His was fine. Mine was one of the nastiest dishes I have ever eaten (or indeed not eaten and you know how disgusting something has to be for me not to finish it ) To all intents and purposes sawdust with a duck flavouring. Dry, crumbly and utterly inedible. I left two thirds. We pointed this out to our server. I am not sure it quite registered and I don’t think it was deducted from our tab although I am not sure as I did not pay.

The main courses arrived. The Barnsley Chop was tiny. On the menu it said 14 oz. I would have loved to have weighed it uncooked. I am sure it was the weight they say but both my chum and the table next to us who had ordered the same looked very crestfallen when it arrived. I am not surprised. A good Barnsley chop should be at least two cutlets on each side. My steak arrived but was certainly not black and blue. It was rare, I will grant you and it tasted quite nice, but the outside was a uniform grey as if it had just been tossed in a pan rather than grilled. Other steaks came to other tables with a decent cross hatch of grill marks so I have no idea what was happening here.

Pictures of the sides can be found in the dictionary under the word “Perfunctory” Chips were too fat, so crisp on the outside too floury on the inside as is the nature of chunky chips. Mushrooms tasted slightly stale to me like they were pre prepped and warmed through. They could not manage to ruin some green beans although God knows given time, I am sure they could find a way. Of the four sauces, the Bernaise and Hollandaise were both pretty good. The salsa verde and sauce vierge were really not.

More haplessness on the puddings. My cheesecake was dry as a bone and crumbly. My chums orange cake came without the advertised Tarragon syrup. When he asked if he should be getting some, the server said that it did not come with anything. He challenged this and asked to see the menu and she then said “ oh, you’re right, it is just that it never has done yet” So, having tasted it, that’s a few hundred lucky souls who have not had to taste this cloying syrupy disaster although they have had to put up with dry as old leather cake. Quid pro quo, I guess.

We just asked for the bill. With a couple of orange juices and two glasses of red wine and some mineral water, the cost was a not inconsequential £85. A lot to pay for a meal that is little better than a Harvester without as many visits as you like to the world famous salad bar.

As we left, the duty manager asked us what we thought, so we told him. He took it on the chin and said that they had only been open a short while. The classic restaurant excuse. If they are still bedding in, why charge full whack?

It reminds me of The Marquess Tavern when they said the same and I said “ I am bedding in a new credit card, so I can only pay you half”

Mind you, half of what we paid would still have been too much for this “meal”

I realised on the way out the model they were copying, Mitch Tonk’s successful Fishworks chain.

I think they have got is spot on as they are over priced and crappy too.

ANOTHER PLEASANT HERMANO SUNDAY: RANSOME’S DOCK

Another meal South of the river and, it should be said, a damn fine one.

I am not sure why we thought of going to Ransome’s Dock. Sure, we have had three pretty good meals before there, but I always thought of it as being quite expensive for what it was and it has been at least two years since we last made our way down across the bridge to Battersea.

Still, HP seemed up for it and, after a short tube journey to South Kensington, we fought our way through the rosy cheeked, collar up throng and across the river to arrive at the restaurant right on time for our 12.30pm table.

It really is a lovely room, light and airy, simple furnishings, but comfortable with good size tables. The service is just as welcoming.

The whole operation reeks of professionalism. That seems a strange thing to say as one would hope that all restaurants would aspire to a level of professional competence. But, when you eat out as often as DH do, you realise, all to clearly, that the level of skill both front of house and in the kitchen often leaves a vast amount to be desired. HP’s recent redux at The Marquess Tavern is a perfect example of a place that either gets the food right or the service but has so far failed to yield a decent level of both at one sitting.

Ransome’s Dock just gets it right. Unstuffy service, food that, while breaking no culinary boundaries is eyebrow raisingly tasty and thoughtful and a wine list that is both well priced and interesting enough to make DH drink far more than is good for us.

While we looked at the menu, we managed two 20cl bottles of La Gitana Manzanilla and left just enough left to go with our starters.

HP went for a mixture of duck and chicken livers cooked in sherry, Served slightly pink they shrieked of good provenance and considered preparation. I had a chicken liver parfait which came with toasted bread and a pickled shallot. Both dishes excellent examples of very straightforward dishes that are all too easy to bugger up.

We shared one more starter. Two courgette fritters which looked a little unattractive but were crisp on the outside and creamy on the inside as shredded courgette had been mixed with a mild goats cheese.

For main courses, HP plumped for wild rabbit which came with red cabbage and sweet potatoes. The rabbit was a revelation. Not for the way it was prepared which was in a classical, creamy, mustard sauce but because of the rabbit itself. The depth of flavour was astonishing and as different from the farmed rabbit I normally find as I am from, er well any man that any woman might find vaguely attractive.

My belly pork cooked in Pedro Ximinez came on a thick stew of pardina lentils. The taste of the pork had not been smothered by the PX and retained a layer of fat which also has a toothsome crackly top.

We shared a bowl of crucnhy chips. Cooked perfectly. That’s what I mean by a proper kitchen. A proper kitchen is one that can do good chips. So there.

A bottle of 1997 York Ridge Petite Sirah was well priced at £37 and suited both dishes. Af first, slightly too tanic, but softened in the glass so the vanilla note came through.

Puddings at Ransome’s Dock are over priced but well made or, in the case of HP’s selection of Roscombe ice cream, well scooped ( but £6!). My banana split was, as good as you are likely to find in any place where the waitress is not on roller skates. Dessert wines of a Malaga ( dark syrupy Moscatel from Andalucia ) and Muscat both suited perfectly.

Slight disappointment on the tea front. I asked if they had fresh mint tea and was assured they did. They did not as they brought me a bag. Ho hum, but increasingly the case these days. Coffee was declared “ excellent” don’t drink coffee so didn’t really care.

Did care for another drink though so we finished with a grappa for HP and a 5yr old Somerset brandy for me. We may have to have a few days on the wagon after this weekend, but it is worth every kidney grumbling moment.

The drink obviously fired a few of the little grey cells in HP as he had a storming brainwave that we should make cards with our logo on like West Ham’s Inter City Firm which we should leave on the table after a meal which just read “ you have been visited by Dos Hermanos” Oh well, It made me laugh.

Two hours after we arrived, we left. £145 lighter ( inc service ) A lot, but that represents our capacity to drink and order extra starters rather than the expense of the restaurant. Other diners came and went while we did "the works" and had one or two courses, a glass of wine and could easily have got out of there with a £50 bill for two.

I did not begrudge it. I think this is a very solid restaurant with a kitchen that seriously and quietly gets on with it. No muss, no fuss. A very agreeable place indeed.

Afterwards we both fancied and needed a stroll. A stroll that turned into a route march as we walked in the increasingly hot weather back to base in London’s fashionable East. I am guessing about seven miles. En route, we got a little peckish, well you are bound to, no? So we stopped off at Yauatcha for some hot chocolate and a cake.

All very disappointing and a marked couterpoint to our lunch. Service was, quite frankly, up its own arse. The cakes were OK, no more and the hot chocolate weak and watery. I did not hate the chocolate as much as HP who described it as “disgusting” but it really was not great.

I took a picture of the attractive display of cakes and was told in no uncertain manner that “ we have a strict policy that no one is allowed to take pictures” As HP said we should have told them we have a strict policy of not paying the best part of £20 for vile hot chocolate and blah cakes. I guess they don’t want a pictorial record of all the miserable faces in there, particularly of the staff.

After fighting our way through the throngs of fans ( mainly Italian ) in SOHO, we were soon back at home, feet up, papers in hand and ready for the game . For some reason or other, England don’t seem to be in the final. Strange that.