CUT: THE MUSTARD?

Cut to the chase: It's a Steakhouse. It's expensive. Rich people and Americans will love it. (Cheque to the usual place please).

Oh. Ok.

Much as I'd like to believe Wolfgang Puck has always wanted to open a restaurant in London and isn't it just wunnerful with your history and I'm actually thinking of buying a house and sending my kids to school here and the weather, just love your weather etc.etc. Much as I'd like to believe it I just can't. Let's face it: not only is the weather crap here but CUT is really just another branch of an ever-expanding franchise in yet another tony location

This one is located in a narrow space on the ground floor of some sort of boutique-like annex of the Dorchester Hotel. It’s all (presumably) hideously expensive with hard, reflective surfaces and heavy furniture. Surroundings designed to confound simple folk like myself but one in which people like hedge fund managers – there’s alot around these parts - will feel right at home.

There's a definite Siberia in this restaurant, situatedt right at the back, to which I was inevitably led and seated so that the other sad-sack single diner had a nice view of my back. I had a view of the wall. Avoid.

On a sort of mezzanine floor overlooking the dining room there’s a bar where I could only imagine the fun people were having but could certainly enjoy the sound system blasting out hits of the 70’s. David segueing into Al segueing into Marvin.

Although it’s ostensibly a steakhouse the menu has pleanty choice with even a few options for vegetarians - although if you are one of those so-blessed you may ponder upon on your choice of dining venue when you see mushrooms coming in at £19. They are Masala Wild Mushrooms though. In the end, though, it’s still a steakhouse and it seemed perverse and not a little bit dumb to order anything but a piece of beef.

Before that though there were some nibbles: nice, crumbly cheese straws, warm cheesy gougères and some toughish bread.

A starter of Crab and Lobster “Louis” was an assemblage of lumps of lobster, white crab meat, toms and microgreens – like a sort of refined seafood cocktail. I couldn’t detect any of the advertised horseradish and it was a little underseasoned for my taste but it was a light and pleasant enough dish and the shellfish tasted nice.

There’s a decent selection of steaks available and there was the now obligatory show ‘n’ tell of the primo cuts. Foolishly, as it turned out, I spurned my usual “Stupidly Big Steak on Bone” MO and went for 6oz of Australian Wagyu. Yours for an arm AND a leg – I suspect it hadn’t travelled cattle class from down under. Super-sizing it with £10 of Foie Gras was just showing off.

Whoever’s manning the grill here knows exactly what they’re doing as the smallish lump of beef – it was a shock to see what 6oz of steak actually looks like – was perfectly cooked and
looked bloody great (mate).

Unfortunately, it had about as much taste as your average Ocker. Whether I should requested it cooked less rare; whether the odd seasoning covering the outside of the meat was killing the flavour; whether I’ve developed a tin mouth, I’ll never know. What I do know is that it was one of the more disappointing steaks I’ve eaten in a restaurant. So much so I hardly noticed that the FG had been overcooked.

The sides were more enjoyable though. A large tower of Tempura Onion Rings were light and crisp although its height had been enhanced by judiciously filling the bottom of the cup with the onion ring equivalent of 'bits'.

Fries were light and crisp although they’d been cut from unpeeled spuds (quite common in the US) – just made for dipping in an anaemic-looking but fine tasting béarnaise.

An off-menu Ice Cream selection was a metaphorical shrug of a desert but I liked the accompanying gooey chocolate cookie as well as the ones which came with my coffee.

Wines were just as eye-gougingly expensive as the food which is to be expected – there are very few reasonably priced wines to be found in London restaurants. Service was ultra-smooth and never missed a beat. As a whole though the experience left me underwhelmed. To be fair I feel this way about the majority of new places and find myself returning instead to my old favourite haunts.

To be honest if all you’re after is a good steak and are not fussed about dining at bling factor 50 then one of the established London Steakhouses – Goodman is but a 15 minute stroll away - would be a better choice. If you do not partake of the cow and have plenty of dosh CUT may just suit the bill.

HEDONE: MY PLEASURE

To call Mikael Jonsson an ingredient obsessive is to do him a disservice - it’s a bit like saying that footballer Lionel Messi can play a bit.

I’d already crossed paths with him (Mikael not Lionel, stupid) several years ago on a group trip to Anthony’s in Leeds and once my friend Scott - you remember: more Michelin three-stars than I’ve had hot dinners - told me that he was looking to open a restaurant in Chiswick my interest was very, as they say, piqued.

Although I was told he was already a gifted amateur cook, an allergy had prevented him from working in commercial kitchens. The allergy has cleared up so he’s followed his dream and is now cooking in his first place, Hedone. And he seems to be having a hell of a time doing so. Happily, that enthusiasm is catching and the restaurant is already gaining an excellent, wholly warranted, reputation. Not bad for a first-timer, eh?

So how to describe the food? Well the cliché of the best ingredients, cooked simply wouldn’t be far off the mark although that doesn’t tell the whole story. There’s a whole load of technique going here but without the bombast and overwrought style that fine dining restaurants are often prone to.

There’s also little twists that constantly take one by surprise and lift dishes above the norm. Take for instance the small Sablés that I had as an amuse to start one of my meals. Made with Berkswell Cheese they were beautifully crumbly but were lifted by a sprinkling of powdered, oven-dried blackcurrants that tingled on the tongue like space rocks. Or how about a Gazpacho of amazing intensity dotted with specks of dill oil and served with a chilled dill flower cream? or small tiny potatoes that have been smoked over juniper berries.

A meal here often starts with an Umami flan (as in the Iberian custard type) which has typically been made with a duck stock or dashi and topped with various purees: English pea, seaweed or red pepper. Served tiede these are a such a great way to start a meal – luscious mouthfeel and the umami element gets the juices going (oo-err missus). I’m just surprised nowhere else in London does them.

If you're a big fan of over-reduced sauces sluicing around on the plate then the minimal intervention policy here might disappoint. Although there are sauces here they’re correct, to the point, occasionally inventive: a small thick rivulet was made from the guts of a squab pigeon; a sauce with the beef that was light yet intense and deep in flavour; a lustrous Lobster sauce served with Duck or one made from mustard lightly napped over the spuds served with some Turbot collar.

That cut of Turbot – ‘cut’ seems an apt word - looked like some beautiful sub-species of fish and was remarkable for its tasty dense white flesh and gelatinous exterior which made eating the bones akin to demolishing the carcass of a roast chicken (gentle reader, I sucked those bones clean).

Other fish is equally great and handled with care like a fillet of Mackerel – the freshest I’ve had outside of Cornwall – which was just flashed under the grill. Scallops, hand-dived from the South Coast came in a dashi broth and as Sashimi. Or my favourite, just served raw and wriggling, bound in nori.

Superb Beef from Darragh O’Shea was cooked in plenty of Beef fat and served rare. There was the aforementioned Pigeon and the Duck in Lobster sauce. Don’t be disappointed if you visit and some of these are not on the menu – only the best stuff at the time makes the cut and there’ll always be something else which is just as good. It’s that sort of place.

Puddings are equally adept: beautiful Almond Blac-Manger served with (proper) Apricots; Raspberries served with Cinnamon ice cream and a Horseradish cream; a light Peach Tart with lovely pastry and Tonka Bean Ice Cream.

Chocolate soufflé was more mousse-like in texture but was lifted by the quality of the chocolate used and the accompanying Vanilla Ice cream made with one of several varieties of vanilla the chef has found (well of course he has) was a revelation.

Coffee was still a work in progress but has improved with each visit.

There’s just such a clarity and purity to the cooking that even after nine courses with plenty of excellent homemade sourdough bread you can leave without feeling bloated.

All this would count for naught of course without the terrific supporting acts that are the friendly, professional staff. And just in case you thought that this might be some stuffy temple of gastronomy on a recent visit the chef/patron had to rush out to get baby seats for some younger punters who were visiting. Yes, news of Hedone and that Umami dish
has even reached the nurseries of West London.

I have to fess up and say I’m already a little bit in love with Hedone to the extent that I almost considered cancelling a recent trip as it would mean not visiting for a couple of weeks. By comparison most other places seem, well, a bit rubbish. Now if only I could find some magic portal that would whisk me from East London to West I would be happy and my life complete.

ROCKSALT:VOYEZ/CES OISEAUX BLANCS/ET CES MAISONS ROUILLÉES

My favourite time of all to visit the seaside is when the promenades are quiet, the skies are grey and rain-flecked and the kiss-me-quick hat shops are shuttered. An English seaside town in the low season has an elegiac quality which appeals so much that I sometimes think I must have some Finnish in my lineage.

Why is it I got the impression that Folkestone is always in an off-season? Maybe it was the seafront – reached using the water-powered Leas Lift - sparsely populated with a few kite flyers, the pebble beach bereft of bathers save for a man looking like he was about to swim the Channel and a few families braving the breeze on a small sandy beach (windbreakers for goalposts).

They’re making an effort here though. The Folkestone Triennial runs until September and there is a little artistic barrio with coffee shops and the like in the centre. As in many of these Kent coastal towns though much of the centre is a bit chavtastic – people worship regularly at the temple of St.Primark – and the good townsfolk have not so much been touched with the ugly stick as beaten firmly around the bonce with it. I fitted in perfectly, of course.

Luckily, they’d picked some of the younger, better-looking and more clued-up examples from the populace to staff chef Mark Sargeant’s first restaurant, Rocksalt and although I had heard about early problems with the service I couldn't quibble: they were terrific and pretty much on the ball during my visit.

Rocksalt itself does look a tad incongruous alongside the small wooden shacks selling whelks and crabsticks and with the newly opened Fish and Chip café Smokehouse a lobster net’s cast away from the mothership this is beginning to look like a sort of proto-Padstein. Sarge-ville if you will.

That said once you’re in the restaurant you could actually be anywhere - probably London. There’s a big floor-to-ceiling window that runs the length of the dining room so you can see the sea and everything but the décor is more along smart/urban lines, corporate even.

I had (wrongly) assumed that Rocksalt was all about fish, especially given its location but there seemed to be plenty of meat dishes on the menu and a board of different steaks was duly paraded around the room for diners to admire. To be honest I would have been more interested in seeing the fish.

Shame, too, that apart from Early Bird they couldn't have used some Kent breweries for their selection of beers, nice though the Meantime ones are. I probably would have stuck to them too as the wine list was a bit snooze-inducing.

Some small snacks to go with my beer were ok but a bit inconsequential. A decent tarama, some radishes which lacked pepperiness came with an anchovy dip, some mealy broad beans with salt. Best of the lot were a bowl of slightly gritty cockles served with a little jug of vinegar which whisked me straight back to seaside holidays of yore when all edibles had to come with a fine layer of sand (some weird by-law I think).

Red Herring was a Smoked Mackerel dyed with Beetroot. Served warm it was good: moist and meaty and not too smoky but a poached or soft-boiled egg may have made it more of a dish; much as I admired the Iberian-like simplicity.

My main course was a special of Dover Sole at £20 (the other was Monkfish) which was simply grilled and simply great, as Dover Sole often is although a bit more inventiveness with the sides wouldn't have gone amiss. I wasn’t looking for an El Bulli experience but serving it with Asparagus and boiled spuds was a sign of a rather unambitious kitchen.

For pudding Kentish Gypsy Tart was very good indeed with a light mousse-like caramel filling and crumbly pastry - even the waitress was surprised at how quickly I demolished it (others less so).

Decent coffee was served with some fudge and some Rocksalt Rock. Which was nice.

So the service was excellent and the food good, so why was I less moved by this place than say Eddie Gilbert’s up the coast in Ramsgate or even The Sportsman on the North Kent Coast?

Well, those places have a sense of location and context which adds to the experience. When you visit them you're certainly not in London whereas at Rocksalt I kept having to look out of the window to remind myself where I was. They also feel like one-offs where Rocksalt feels like a nascent chain.

Then I realised that Rocksalt doesn't just exist for the benefit of whiny Londoners made weary of Burgers, Bahn Mi and Burritos (that’ll be me) but also for local people who want a decent place to eat. As if to emphasise that point as I was leaving I overheard a local couple outside who were looking at the menu.

“Looks good doesn’t it?”

“It does - shall we go in?”

“Why not”.