GEALES: SOLE-NO SOUL

To be honest I never thought that two and half years after visiting the execrable Tom's Place - Tom 'Pre-Pack' Aiken's take on Fish and Chips (yeah, right) where the fish proved to be more sustainable than the business model - I'd be back eating one of DH’s favourite platefuls of grub in exactly the same place. Now, though instead of a lame pun, the gaff is named after the venerable Geales, part of the proto-chain owned by the excitingly named Concept Venues.

The first branch of Geales in Notting Hill has been operating under its current owners for over three years which surprised me as when I visited it was a step down in enjoyment from the original incarnation. So they've either upped their game or maybe the Notting Hillbillies are not that fussed about the food they shove down their gobs. I suspect it's the latter especially as in an odd case of restaurant déjà vu I had an almost identical experience here compared to the one several years ago.

The staff obviously weren’t expecting a punter so early – though it was almost 12:30 – and the cogs weren’t so much whirring as grinding noisily. The FOH was doing a little on-the-spot staff training with young, posh lads who were doing the waiting and I had to ask for things several times. A tad irritating in an empty restaurant.

Nobody seemed to know exactly what the charmingly named Seaside Pick & Mix was. I offered marinated shellfishy bits which they seemed to think was a reasonable description. It was, in fact, shellfishy bits which had been lightly warmed through. It was under seasoned and pretty tasteless but for £3 was a harmless enough way to kill some time until my Whitebait pitched up.

Happily the kitchen’s deep-frying skills were well up to snuff and the lightly battered, little fish were excellent. The mayonnaise could have done with a bit of pepping up but I suppose they didn’t want to make things too exciting for the elderly locals who were gradually filling the restaurant up. (I had to have a little chuckle when one couple on a neighbouring table who had been visiting this spot since the fifties went on about how much they hated the last place. So you see – it’s not just me. Hah).

My main course of Haddock and Chips was technically spot on. The fish had a crisp coating which had allowed the fish to steam inside but not overcook – it flaked in a pleasing fashion. But, and it’s a big but, it didn’t taste of anything. Whether it was lack of seasoning or possibly the batter needing some beer in the mix I don’t know, but I do know it was all very, very bland and consequently a very dull eat.

Chips were fine. Mushy peas had been made (correctly) from marrowfat peas but had not been soaked or cooked long enough so there were hard bits still in. Perhaps it was the kitchen taking their lead from lazy TV chefs and keeping things “a bit rustic”.

The other accompaniments? Well, my last post on Geales probably tells you everything you need to know. And like that last visit the best thing I ate was the Ice Cream, which was a pleasant change after the rash of places serving up expensive, gummy Gelati.

Overall though it still is a truism that the gussying-up of the humble F&C supper had somehow robbed the dish of any heart or soul. Either that or the kitchen had never actually eaten or made proper fish and chips before but could execute a recipe very accurately. Certainly, the latter may be the case as I saw a cracking piece of grilled Plaice go out.

That said, much like its sister restaurant in Notting Hill, Geales is located in an area not known for it’s great restaurants and discerning clientele which probably means it’ll will do very well. Me, I’m off to find somewhere where the phrase “neutral oil” could get you a smack round the chops.

TOM'S PLACE

I'm a fool to do your dirty work

When DH visited Tom’s Kitchen last year and had some excruciatingly bad Fish and Chips we pondered on whether his new place Tom’s er…Place would be as bad. Today I found out – it’s worse. Listen, if you’re going to get yourself so much pre-publicity – and TA’s mug has been plastered all over the place of late – then at least put out an honest and decent product.

The restaurant wasn’t open (natch) when I visited so I ordered some Fish, Chips and Mushy Peas to take away. Then I went to try and find somewhere to sit and eat them. Not an easy task in SW3 where most green spaces are private enclaves for the great and good of Chelsea and most benches are taken up by nannies of the sprogs of the great and good. Eventually I found a wall to perch on and unwrapped my bounty. First thoughts were that it was a pretty small piece of Cod for £11.50 (and it will cost more in the restaurant) and the chips looked suspiciously like the fat variety which I loathe so much. Yup. Correct on both counts.

The Cod had an overcooked tough batter (I have a suspicion it may have been one of the pieces I’d seen sitting in the display cabinet). Because the tranche was quite thick the fish hadn’t been turned to mush, but it wasn’t far off. It tasted ok. The chips were rubbish: flaccid and undercooked in the centre, they really needed another deep frying. I left most of them to the pigeons who seemed to enjoy them a lot more than me. No taste them pigeons. I had noticed that the chefs doing the frying looked bored and distracted but I would have expected a bit more enthusiasm given this is a brand new venture. Perhaps they were taking it easy for the restaurant opening proper. Perhaps they just couldn’t give a toss.

English Mushy Peas - as oppose to the well known French variety - were ersatz but harmless. Southerners are never going to get these right so it’s pointless going on too much about it (but I probably will anyway). I’ve posted a picture of the proper stuff so you can find the relevant picture in your I-SPY Northern Chippies (assuming you’re old enough to have a copy).

And just when I thought things couldn’t get any worse I tried the condiments. For your quid you get a couple of tiny containers. One contained a tomato reduction which they amusingly refer to as ‘ketchup’ (the wags), the other had a rather acidic and nasty tartare sauce.

So then, overpriced (Chip Buttie for £3 anyone ?), crappy Fish and Chips. Surely, there must be some upside. Nope. Nothing. Nada. In common with DHs’ experiences at TA’s other restaurants there is absolutely no reason for us to revisit this one.

Oh and here's the sustainability bit for those who give a toss: the knives and forks are made out of wood or something and are designed by Terence Conran (I made that last bit up).

FOXTROT OSCAR

It was sweet up at the top
'Til that ill wind started blowing
Now it's cozy down below

Recently I’ve had a bit of spare time on my hands which means I can do pleasant things like go for lunch - one of the more civilised activities that sets us apart from the beasts. I was more than happy then to drag my lardy arse and crappy camera down to Royal Hospital Road to try out Gordon Ramsay’s new joint Foxtrot Oscar.

A small restaurant near his eponymous three star it’s a rather stark and utilitarian space with only about forty covers but once full buzzed nicely. Thankfully, it was bereft of restaurant critics (“Do you know who I am ?” etc.), but instead appeared to be hosting a meeting of the red-faced and chinless club (new member…Hermano Primero). I liked it immensely.

Like The Narrow and Devonshire Arms this is another diffusion effort from El Gordo and has the similar aim of producing good food at decent prices. They pretty much succeed in their aim. There are no culinary fireworks i.e. nothing here to frighten the most conservative of punters they’ll inevitably get, just well executed food - exemplars of bistro classics if you will. This is a kitchen that can cook.

A Prawn Cocktail – admittedly not the hardest dish to prepare – succeeded by dint of decent ingredients: a generous heap of fresh langoustine tails and a well-made tangy Marie Rose sauce. It was slightly under seasoned but improved with a twist of pepper. Crab Cakes came bursting with the crustacean’s white meat and were accurately cooked – no grease overload here.

Best of all was the Veal and Foie Gras Burger. I’d had this dish before before at the Boxwood Café but the version here was leagues ahead. Cooked pink with plenty of chunks of liver, it had a good loose texture and a fine meaty taste. A blob of onion ‘jam’ came on top. The bun was pretty good too. Chips were nice but needed the requested ketchup and mayonnaise. A little accompanying Caesar Salad was exemplary. The only thing that jarred was an odd warm tomato salsa. The dish didn’t really need it.

Given that I didn’t have to get back to a job it would have been rude of me not to have tried a selection of ice cream with buttery shortbread. So I did. Coffee was excellent and cost barely more than the dishwater served up by S**b**ks and their ilk. And they threw in a couple of Turkish Delight. Lovely.

Whatever you think of the foul-mouthed one and his TV persona he really does know his er…onions when it comes to running restaurants. If chain restaurants are a necessary evil then at least let them be reliable and good value for money as the aforementioned gastros. I look forward to completing the set with the Warrington when it opens in February.

TOM’S KITCHEN: GOODBYE MR TOM

If someone asks me what the worst meals I have ever eaten were, as they often do, it is not very hard to come up with a list.

In at No5, The, unlamented Food Room in Battersea, which was like, I imagine, eating in a neighbourhood restaurant in Birmingham in the late 70’s but without the glamour.

At No4, St Germain, a meal so ridiculously awful that I still shudder when I think of the bowl of “potted shrimp” that turned out to be frozen prawns in melted butter.

At No3, Chintamani, a horrifyingly ill judged attempt to create a high end Ottoman experience by serving gloop and putting a man in a fez on the door.

At No2, Gordon Ramsay at Claridges which separated DH from over £350 for a meal which included a floor show comprising of one of “Gordo” mates shouting “c**t” at the top of his lungs at the next table throughout the meal.

At No1, wait for it.

Restaurant Tom Aikens.

Singly the worst experience I have ever had in a London dining establishment. Flavourless, ugly food served on plates that looked like car wrecks in a room where all good humour had been sucked out of the air by the front of house (his ex wife, I believe) So bad was the meal that, as my companion and I slunk out, we looked in pity at another couple examining their food and could not tell if the course in front of them was a starter, main course or dessert. Words cannot sum up the misery of that meal, but I think I described it at the time as the same as coming home and finding your grandfather prancing around in a lacy teddy.

Move on three or so years and the pain of that night had dimmed a bit. HP had taken the day off work and suggested we walk across town to Tom Aikens’ new fish and chip place called Tom’s Place. The dreadful name did not bother me so much it does, after all join a long and glorious line of chip shops with pun name like “Just for the Halibut” and “Rock & Sole Plaice” but it did reawaken the dread of experiencing a meal like my last at RTA.

However, HP prevailed upon me and reminded me of my unspoken duty to try every fish & chip shop in London from high end to greasy corner joint (we do it so you don’t have to) and I agreed to join him in a cross town walk of some seven miles or so to Cale St in Chelsea.

I should not have worried, not because the meal turned out to be any good but because the, already much delayed place, turned out not to be open at all and was filled with angry looking men working in a room that looked nowhere near finished.

We hadn’t really considered a fall back position, but HP in a moment of weakness suggested Tom’s Kitchen. I had my doubts, but it was close, it looked like there was space and it was bloody freezing outside, so we ducked in.

The empty seats, it turned out were reserved but they offered us a seat at the bar area which, not having any alternatives in mind, we took. The room, is utilitarian in a “Chelsea” kind of way with communal bench seating and white tiled walls.

HP’s snort of “fuck’s sake” was the first indication of what was to come. The prices at Tom’s Kitchen are not for the faint hearted. £25 for steak and chips anyone? £16.50 for pork belly, £17.50 for pan fried lemon sole?

We had decided, if it was on the menu, that we had to have fish & chips given that it had been the purpose of the excursion in the first place. I guessed around £14.50 and, surprise, surprise, was spot on. I don’t mind the price so much. I have paid more at places like Bibendum and close to that even at The Fish Shop on St John St. This is, after all a restaurant not a chippie. But, at those prices, these need to be as good as fish & chips is ever likely to get.

A couple of glasses of Meantime stout numbed the pain of the menu pricing and we ordered a couple of starters as well.

HP’s Ceasar Salad looked was no better than you would buy in a pr-prepared packet at M&S with uniform croutons and tired leaves ( this is, of course being a little unfair to M&S). A few shavings of dry parmesan and couple of anchovies thrown on top could not disguise the fact that for £6.50 this was as miserable an example of this classic dish as you are ever likely to behold.

My remoulade was little better. A bigger portion, I will grant you, but that, in this case, was not a good thing. It tasted medicinal which made me think that the whole thing had been allowed to sit and have a good ferment before being served with a few strips of chewy ham and a piece of sourdough that must have been just perfect when it was prepared at 7am that morning.

The wine list is through the roof expensive and even our “cheap” bottle of Picpoul (about £4.50 at retail, I think) came in at a laughable £16.

But, the best is yet to come. Our fish & chips, and I use that term in its most loose sense, arrived. On a wooden board no less, as all good fish & chips should. On top of the board was a layer of greaseproof paper and on top of that, our meal.

Oh dear, oh dear, where to begin. Well, let’s start with the fish, it is after all the main component. Pollack is sustainable (hurrah!) it is also dirt cheap which means that you should be able to expect a decent portion. What we got were pieces that were microscopic barely being half a runt size fillet each. The small amount of fish we had been treated too was served in a limp batter which had failed to protect the fish during cooking so it descended into a mushy hell.

Alongside this, a bowl of fat, grim chips which had a little crunch but not enough to hide the floury insides which I tried to hide by dipping into some tartar sauce that lacked any of the pre-requisite tang or crunch.

Decorating the plate was a large pile of salad leaves which is so wrong on so many levels. HP refused to eat it on principle. What I tried was no better than you can find in any gas filled bag in any supermarket.

They brought proper Sarsons vinegar which I am certain is done with a huge dose of “slumming it” irony and also a bottle of their homemade ketchup which was a pale glop of a cold tomato reduction with none of the flavours that make ketchup such a perfect companion to fish & chips.

There is no excuse for food this dreadful. There was, trust me I counted, a brigade of ten people in the kitchens and yet they still turned out food that would make Findus blush.

The bill, ah the bill. A mere £70 including a 12% charge for service which was efficient, if unhindered by charm and well trained in the up selling filling of customer’s wine glasses. We thanked God that we did not bother with side orders which came in tiny portions at £3.50 a pop.

The place was packed as we left and the other plates of food, a burger here, bangers & mash there, looked as ghastly as our own “meal” it would seem that Mr Tom has managed to transplant the spirit of his high end place to this canteen intact, quite a feat. We both suggested at once “efficiently extracting money from the stupid”

The only benefit of the whole sorry story is that I know now that I shall never have to set foot in Tom’s Place when it opens. I already know just how bad it will be.

I have written nearly 1300 words about how awful Tom's Kitchen is. HP sums it up so much more eloquently in the first picture