MIN JIANG: TOP OF THE HIGH STREET DIM SUM

As rules-of-thumb go the one that says that the quality of the food in a restaurant is in inverse proportion to its view is not a bad one. You can’t really moan – you, the diner and the restaurant are usually complicit in the unwritten agreement that the latter’s responsibility starts and ends by providing a fabulous vista.

This doesn’t apply so much in London where, to be honest the views, especially from elevated positions are, well, a bit crap – the city as a whole being a bit of a dog’s dinner architecturally.

It was a bit of a surprise then, that my Dim Sum lunch at Chinese restaurant Min Jiang, situated at the top of The Kensington Gardens Hotel, was so enjoyable. Certainly because of the food which I already knew about –
DH’s visit a year ago confirmed that this was a very capable kitchen – but the fact the view over Kensington Gardens was really rather pleasant. Lots of green stuff (trees I think), not too many cranes. That sort of stuff.

Min Jiang is, of course, well known for its Roast Duck, of which they sell an astonishing twenty plus per day but I was here to try their Dim Sum. I already knew about their excellent Xiao Long Bao, Shanghai Dumplings filled with a savoury stock, which had piqued my interest about their other “bits of the heart”.

I had my answer as soon as I started nibbling at a little bowl of lightly pickled vegetables. The veg had been marinated in vinegar together with a little salt and sugar. Simple, sure, but light and tart and delicious.

Everything is freshly prepared and cooked to order by the chef (from Hong Kong) and the results show – this is some of the best Dim Sum cooking in London. Ok, the range isn’t wildly inventive or particulary extensive but there is a preciseness to the preparation and a lightness to the end result which didn’t leave me feeling bloated and harbouring a MSG-induced migraine even after nine dishes.

For the steamed stuff Har Gau and Pumpkin Dumpling were little balls densely packed with seafood. The skin was delicate, if a little thick, but miles ahead of the usual industrial Gau. Xiao Long Bao were still present and correct with a good, scaldingly-hot stock and meaty filling.

Char Siu Puffs – pastry encasing a rich porky filling - were a revelation, all hot and crumbly. Cubes of squidgy Turnip Cake were made into a spicy stir fry. Greaseless Spring Rolls came tightly packed with shredded Beijing Duck with a thick dipping sauce. A special of silky smooth rolls of Cheung Fun were stuffed with nuggets BBQ’d Pork.

Yam Croquettes show the kitchen’s dab hand at frying. In more run-of-the-mill places these will spend most of their last hours sunning themselves in a warmer. Here, at Min Jiang, they’re brought fresh from the deep-fat fryer. Great stuff.

Does the Chinese Custard Tart have its origins in Britain (home of the tart) or Portugal (home of the Pastel de Nata) ? For me it’s of minor interest but the delicate little cakes served here were wolfed down pretty quickly.

Min Jiang’s prices are a bit higher than the norm but then so are their standards. And to make sure you appreciate each dish there’s plenty of plate swapping. Think of it as eating from a tasting menu rather than a er, bun fight where everything is served at once and you all dive in. It’s altogether a calmer and more civilised experience.

You may prefer the hustle and bustle and cheapness of a Chinatown joint or the more modern spin at the disco-like Hakkasan or even the buzzy Yauatcha where you pay for the staff to be snotty and superior to you. It’s probably a sign of age but I was more than happy at Min Jiang - it has great food, friendly staff and a nice view. I may have just discovered my perfect Dim Sum joint.

BISTROT ELEVEN: BOTTOM FEEDING I

Foodies beware, restaurateurs are on to us. They lure in the decent, honest gastronaut with interesting online menus and bigged-up Chef CVs (Worked with MPW = Chopped some carrots but got sacked the following week). You pitch up all expectant and excited and then realise, pretty quickly, that you’ve been sold a pup. It’s all the more galling when in these straightened times genuinely good and interesting places are suffering whilst the cruddy ones continue to divert valuable funds.

I had two such experiences recently. One experience was of the “Look, I’m not angry – I’m just disappointed” sort. The other was of the laugh out loud, hilariously bad sort. The pain of writing about two different yet similarly depressing experiences is immense, but I’m going to tough it out for you, dear reader.

I don’t know whether it was just the area of London I was visiting - High Street Ken - but looking for a pub for a pre-prandial pint before my visit to Bistrot Eleven proved problematical. I ended up at the only pub I knew, the Elephant and Castle, an old stamping ground of HS when he used to work for Penguin. It’s owned by a chain now so it was hardly surprising that I had to get my pint topped up and that in the end it wasn’t worth doing, so poor was the pint.

Bistrot Eleven - 11 Abingdon Road in its previous incarnation - promised much when I browsed the menu online: good-sounding combinations jumped out at me as I mentally put together my proto-meal. The reality was different. The dishes were mostly still there but they seemed to be missing the components that had attracted me to them in the first place. Where were the Kidneys ? The Sweetbreads ? The Truffled Macaroni ?

My instincts about restaurants have become finely honed after many years of dining out but still I ignored the nagging inner voice which said just get the Steak and Chips and go. My fears were compounded when a neighbouring table received their food and the assembled diners immediately fell silent.

I’m sure my face must have betrayed immense disappointment when the Goats Cheese Beignets arrived. I had expected something ethereally light and delicious. Instead , small breadcrumbed tubes, maybe of the Findus family (or should that be genus ?), that tasted mostly of oil and very little of Goats Cheese came with some chunks of Beetroot and a bit of Rocket strewn here and there. It was at this moment I realised I’d made a mistake, but there was no backing out now - I’d ordered an extra starter. Twit.

Confit Shoulder of Rabbit was a small ball of bunny meat which came in a rather nasty caul. The meat itself had been shredded and had a decent texture but had no depth of flavour, or, indeed any flavour at all. Likewise, the Pommery mustard mousseline accompaniment lacked bite or interest. Pea shoots, plonked on the side, seemed like an afterthought rather than a measured contribution to the whole.

My main of Gilthead Bream at least proved that someone had the chops in the kitchen – the fish was cooked pretty well. Only problem was, it smelled. Of fish. Which is not a good thing. I also think there may have been a mix up with a delivery of a flatpack from Ikea as I’m sure my fish was topped with rubber washers and not the advertised Sautéed Baby Squid. The mixture of Chickpeas and Chorizo the fish came on was dull bedsit-level cooking. Chips weren’t too bad.

I get the feeling that there’s a capable kitchen at Bistrot Eleven but that it’s just not trying hard enough. There’s also an obvious skimping on the quality of the ingredients. Both these things are fixable – if the will is there.

I’ve probably used this analogy before (and if I have, tough – it’s our blog) but going to a new restaurant is a bit like a first date. You start off all optimistic, excited and looking forward to the evening ahead. Things don’t get off to a good start and you know it’s not going to get any better. You struggle on for a bit, trying to maintain a smile. You pass on dessert and coffee. The bill is like a departing slap to the back of the head.

Well that’s what my first dates are like. As I said before, not angry, just very, very disappointed. Sigh.