THE WARRINGTON

Another Tanqueray
I'll wait 'til twenty past

There’s an entirely coincidental link between my meal at Water House and my meal at El Gordo’s new opening The Warrington: both are more or less situated on the Regent’s Canal. To my shame although I’ve lived in London for over thirty years I’d never walked along the Western section so I thought it might be a good idea to work up an appetite by attempting the trek to Maida Vale. Of course old lardy here completely underestimated the task ahead and had to return to street level and use conventional transport to get there in time.

You can’t really miss the Warrington Hotel which is situated a short hop away from Maida Vale tube station. It’s a good example of that endangered species the Victorian Gin Palace, from the ornate columns (and there’s more of them inside) which flank the entrance to the art deco stained glass and the huge marble-topped bar inside on the ground floor, it’s all delightfully OTT and has obviously been a labour of love for all involved in the project. It would be worth visiting even if you’re not going to eat in the restaurant just to gawp at the place. This would also have the added advantage of annoying the whingeing locals who take a dim view of refurbished pubs which serve decent food. They really wanted that Tesco Metro.

The light and airy restaurant on the first floor is a very pleasant place to spend a few hours over lunch. It appears that little bit more formal than GR’s other diffusion places but actually it’s much the same: straightforward modern British menu; friendly efficient staff; clean sharp lines all over the place (and heavens be praised – no musak). Classic Ramsay gastro in other words.

That menu ticks all the right boxes too – I could eat most of it given enough lunchtimes. But I only had one.

A Steak and Kidney pie was the highlight: all light crisp pastry and rich satisfying filling came with tremendous double cooked frites. However, this was bookended by three lesser dishes.

A small serving of Clams came with lardons of Gloucester Old Spot which had a great depth of flavour but which completely overpowered the shellfish. It was a touch on the salty side too – somewhat tempered by the cider used as the cooking liquor.

In homage to Jay Rayner’s new book The Man Who Ate the World (hey that sounds similar to HS’s book) I slipped in a dish of Snails in Parsley Butter. A dish like this needs to be served – or at least it does when it is the classic escargots au beurre d’ail – as hot as hades, all sizzling with little brown flecks. The first mollusc you eat should burn your tongue as it goes down. The hot buttery juices should beg to be mopped up. Unfortunately this was the Brian the Snail version: polite, reticent even, with the butter gently fizzing under the shells. Tasty but sort of missing the point.

I’d filled up on the very good bread (I’m not going to leave buttery juices whatever their temperature ) so I really didn’t need a pudding. But, you know, I don’t need to eat out all the time…but I do it anyway. The Knickerbocker Glory had just come out of the fridge and needed some serious chambreing to make it palatable.

Critics have been a bit sniffy about Ramsay’s new restaurants but the man is practising what he preaches and if the end product is consistent and of a good standard, which I think it is, then where’s the problem ? Having said that I’m going to backtrack a little - I can do that because it’s our blog and we can do what we like, so nerrrrr - I felt the food here didn’t quite come up to my expectations: the prices were a little too high and the quality a little inconsistent. It was also the first place where I felt that I actually was paying towards the £5+ million refurbishment costs (if that makes sense).

I still had a good time though, the failings weren’t disasters and having chatted to the staff and seen their enthusiasm for the venture I’m sure most kinks will be ironed out and it will become a useful dining option to have in the nabe. If not, there’s always that walk - this time Eastwards - along the Regent’s Canal which coincidentally and rather spookily finishes at Limehouse right by GR’s first baby: The Narrow.

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.

THE DEVONSHIRE

Can you still recall
Our salad days
Between the ivy walls?

I’m just glad HS wasn’t with me tonight - he would have had apoplexy. The tube journey to Gordon Ramsay’s new gastrogaff The Devonshire in Chiswick took about an hour and a half (I’d estimated it at about thirty minutes). I won’t go into the ghastly details but I have a theory that everyone who matters gets off the tube in Zone One. Thereafter, it doesn’t matter how long the journey takes because there’s no one left that matters left on the train. Harsh maybe but, well, it’s just a theory.

The Devonshire is the second of the pub makeovers in the GR empire. I really enjoyed a meal at the first, the Narrow, earlier this year so I was interested to see whether the quality would hold up as the ‘concept’ was rolled out. In the mood I was in I wouldn’t have had too much problem finding fault and things didn’t start out well but by the end I was won over. There seems to be a commitment to quality which seems to confound your expectations of pub dining, although as I said previously about The Narrow before this is more about dining in a pub.

First the gripes. Booking T&Cs are bizarre for a meal. In a pub. Confirmation 24hrs beforehand, written confirmation of any cancellation, two hour sittings. Any infraction attracting a £60 fine. Not really the warmest of welcomes. I could have justifiably told them to stick it where the sun don’t shine but, you know, anything for the possibility of a decent meal.

The bread was pretty ordinary and sliced so thinly it was impossible to spread any of the fridge-fresh butter. Really there was no point in serving it. Although the room was full and buzzing with the animated chatter of the petit-bourgeoisie of Chiswick there was a relentless, annoying and totally unnecessary aural backdrop of musak. I did get someone to turn it down but it seemed to creep up in volume during the evening. Stop it. Just stop it.

Now for the good things. Despite the booking system the young female staff were very friendly and did their thang with the minimum of fuss. Impressive. On the food front my plat principal of Barnsley Chop was as good as they come. A big hunk of great quality flesh girdled with a thick belt of crisp, crisp fat. The halved kidney and anchovy butter crowning the chop were probably unnecessary but what the heck, I loved them too. The meat had been cooked to that even pinkness that brings out the best flavour from larry (baaaah). A little braised red cabbage rounded off the combo nicely. Chips were the correct size, shape and texture (at last). Yet again, dear reader, I scoffed the lot.

Slightly less stellar was a rather tiddly bullet of a Pork Pie. The filling had a good flavour but it could have benefited from standing a bit more at room temperature to soften the pastry . The accompanying picallili was a nice touch but was too acidic.

Bookending the other side of the meal a Lemon Posset was suitably rich, creamy and tangy and had some very short and very lovely shortbread with it. Of course Lemon Posset is so rich because it’s made with double cream – a little goes a long, long, way. Something I forgot once when making it for friends so we ended up eating about a half pint each. Nice at the time, not so enjoyable a few hours later. Still, that’s why I go to restaurants and don’t own one.

As I found at Hereford Road those who inhabit the Western reaches of the Metropolis seem slightly more at ease with French menus than British (“What are neeps ?”) but they’ll learn and I guarantee they’ll have a good time doing so. But please, and with apologies to that great 80s group Shannon , DON’T LET THE MUSIC PLAY.