BAR BOULUD: DBs

I was thinking the other day about which London restaurants would make it in the hothouse that is the New York restaurant scene. To be honest it was a bit of a dispiriting exercise. Although, they don’t always deliver, there’s an excitement and a mission to please over there that we don’t always get over here. This also extends to their menus which, for some reason that I can’t put my finger on, always appear more interesting.

I felt that interest and excitement again when I set eyes on the menu for Bar Boulud, which has recently opened in the Mandarin Oriental. Not really surprising as, save for a burger or three, it’s the spit of the equivalent gaff in New York.

Apart from the execrable Palm - of which the less said the better - there aren’t many US restaurants that have made it over here but I guess if anyone was going to bring one over then it would be (successful) serial restaurateur Daniel Boulud who is building a restaurant empire to match other umber-chefs like Alain Ducasse and our own Gordo.

Outwardly Bar Boulud doesn’t appear very different to a lot of other places that have recently opened in London: anonymous décor guaranteed not to upset the big hitters staying in the hotel; a big open kitchen with a brigade of chefs beavering away; a phalanx of staff – heavy on the top brass – overseeing everything with very sharp eyes. But on this early visit Bar Boulud is a very different beast to the London norm. Offering a mix of French and US dishes it promises much but delivers as well.

A starter of Cromesquis de Tête de Veau could possibly have done with a little more draining of excess oil but they were still hot and packed with rich shredded calf’s head. A superior sort of croquette, they were nicely cut, by a rivulet of an excellent sauce gribiche.

Event better was to follow. The tasting plate of charcuterie from Parisien Traiteur Gilles Vérot was some of the best I’ve ever had. The cured meats were exemplary: silky slices of Jambon de Paris and nutty Lomo Ibérico, but the pâtés and terrines were even better.

Chunky, porky head cheese, Beef Cheek with Pistachio that that tasted of corned beef. Pâté Grand-Mère was Catherine Deneuve: smooth, refined, elegant. Pâté Grand-Père was more Gérard Depardieu: rougher but still rich with nuggets of foie gras. There was a nicely judged celeriac remoulade and a little bowl of baby vegetables à la grecque which disappeared very quickly – the staff soon replaced it with an even bigger bowl.

The DBGB Burger, a dish borrowed from Daniel Boulud’s Bowery restaurant of the same name and a nod to CBGB, a seminal punk rock venue located on the same street, was everything I’d hoped for. The burger was good and beefy and cooked perfectly to order – medium rare with a nice crust. I could have done with a bit more of the smokey, moist, BBQ Pulled Pork but that may have killed the taste of the beef. I didn’t notice the advertised Cheddar in the bun but it did its job anyway. All good messy fun.

Frites were decent enough although maybe a little more creativity in the chip department wouldn’t have gone amiss. Only minor failing and they were the only thing that stood between me and another burger.

A dessert of Grand Marnier Soufflé, although not tasting very much of that liqueur was one of the most ethereally light I’d ever had – each spoonful seemed to evaporate in the mouth. The Ice Cream I’d ordered alongside wasn’t so impressive – the texture too smooth and the flavours not assertive enough, but it might be a work in progress. The attention to detail evident in the food extended to some mighty fine coffee – an Italian blend – which was rich and dark.

All this comes at prices that, given the location (Knightsbridge) are very reasonable. Service was pretty good too for a new opening although some of the senior staff transplanted from the US were a little stiff to begin with. Their demeanour seemed to improve immeasurably after they saw Daniel Boulud shaking my hand and having a long conversation with me during his stroll around the dining room. As if to confirm this a (previously unavailable) copy of the menu suddenly became very available.

Anyway, M. Boulud will be around for a couple of weeks so if you’re going to visit now would be the time to do so. I’m keeping my fingers crossed that once he returns to the States high standards will be maintained. If they are and Heston Blumental’s restaurant - opening in the same building later on in the year – is any good then this might be some sort of tipping point for London restaurants. About time too.

RACINE: NO TRAGEDY

I took another sip from my insipid pint and scanned the menu again for something, anything that would convince me to stay and have a meal. The usual suspects were all present and correct: the half pint of prawns, the ham hock terrine, the fishcakes, the steak, the burger, the handcut chips. But where was the originality ? Where was the spark, the sign of intelligent life in the kitchen ?

The mise-en-scène wasn’t wonderful either. No FOH, no welcome – just a barman and one waitress polishing cutlery. My table set right in the middle of the drinking tables. Talk about spreading a concept thinly. Let’s hope The Cadogan Arms isn’t one gastropub (the eighth) too far for the Martin Brothers.

I walked back into town looking for somewhere to eat. Given the number if times I dine out I should have a ready list of potential eateries but nothing came to mind.
Passing through Knightsbridge, though, Racine provided the perfect scenario: full and buzzing except for one table, my table. The hard day at work, the travails of using London’s public transport system were soon washed away as I reclined with a glass of Champagne.

HS has already visited Racine a couple of times in the past and I think it’s fair to say, has not been too impressed. Whether I was just lucky on this particular night or that this sort of food just presses more of my buttons, I can’t say, but I had a good meal at Racine. Not flawless and there was a sting in the tail that might give me pause before visiting again.

It wasn’t a great start. Six Speciales de Claire should have been very good but were a bit flabby and lacking in taste. One or two of the Oysters were spawning – the first time I’ve seen this – which was not totally unpleasant just very odd. I should have sent them back but I was curious to see what they were like. Creamy, very creamy. It would have also been nice to have had them removed from their shell or a knife provided so I could do the job myself, but hey, I managed.

From so-so Oysters to one of my dishes of the year. Calf’s Brain with beurre noir is one of those classic French bourgeois dishes that show what can be done with a few relatively straightforward ingredients in the hands of a skilled kitchen. The Brains had been cooked in butter until they had a golden and slightly crisp exterior. The interior was soft and creamy, similar to sweetbreads, but much lighter. The browned butter was cut with a little wine vinegar or lemon juice and a sprinkling of capers. Foam and frippery free, I was making some very odd noises as I ate this. And there was plenty of scope for moppage.

Petit Salé with Choucroute was another excellent dish featuring a good hunk of Pork. The serving was a little parsimonious but made perfect sense given the amount of food that I’d already eaten and was yet to eat. There was some Saucisses and the Choucroute itself, napped in a tart sauce. All very satisfying but made with a sure and light hand. Chips were ace.

Good homemade Vanilla Ice Cream came with a little jug of hot Chocolate Sauce and I also got a little wafer. Which was nice. A double Espresso made with Illy coffee tasted fine although they need to make it a bit shorter.

The service had been spot on during the evening so I was all ready to supersize the service charge, until I received the bill, that is. A service charge of 14.5% OTT in my opinion and not common. And although I never checked, I hope it’s all going to the staff and not being used to top up the waiters’ wages to minimum levels. By making this exorbitant charge they actually lost out and I wouldn’t be surprised if this is a regular occurence.

I’ve developed a thing for small French Bistros. The simple, accurate cooking I’ve encountered is a real antidote to some of the excesses of ‘high-end’ cuisine and some of the travesties endured at the gastropub end of the market. Racine had those aforementioned quality in spades. It’s not cheap, but given its location – a few doors down from Harrods – I wouldn’t expect it to be. However, if I’m still obsessing over that service charge twenty-four hours after the meal then something’s wrong, and I can tell you it’s not me.

THE CHICAGO RIB SHACK

THE CHICAGO RIBSHACK: A MEMOIR FROM H2
It's 1982

I have just moved down from my home town of Rotherham, four A' Levels in hand and am about to begin three years of Theological navel gazing at King's College London.

I already have a passion for food. It is more enthusiastic than knowledgeable (some may say it still is, to which I eruditely reply "bite me") a passion shared and surpassed by my older brother known to you here as H1.

During my first weekend away from home, he invites me to have dinner with him and chooses The Chicago Rib shack in Knightsbridge. I can still recall every detail of the meal. Although, for DH that is not an astonishing fact as our family can just about recall every bite of food that has ever passed our lips. They provide the guideposts to our family history.

Excellent ribs, the best onion loaf I have eaten, before or since and cold beers with exotic sounding names like Rolling Rock and Coors. It was a great evening finished with, if I recall a visit to see "Dead Men Don't Wear Plaid" one of the films from Steve Martin's "funny" period. I didn't enjoy the film mainly because, the Rotherham lad in me which I have never quite killed off, was worried that two men sitting together in a cinema might be considered "odd"

Subsequent visits to other restaurants in the chain, The Chicago Meatpackers and Pizza Pie Factory were equally fun and the food good, despite the fact that pizza is officially snot on toast. The owner, Bob Payton was often on hand as a server (which I am told he did at each place at least once each week to make sure standards were being kept high) and food was reasonably priced, an important point for a student of small means.

Then, in the early 90's Payton died in a tragic motoring accident on the road to his home near Cambridge. His death, I believe was mercifully quick, but the chain died a slow lingering death and my last visit showed a tired, listless operation waiting to be put out of its misery, which it was shortly afterwards.

So, now it is back. Same chef (sort of) and just across the road from its original site

Part of me wants to love it. Part of me wants H1 to report that his visit was a Proustian madeleine moment, A La Recherche De Ribs Perdu if you will. But, part of me expects it to be dreadful. It was one of the first of its kind, but was of its time. Now there are too many ersatz American restaurants where people wear 'flair" and hunker down at the tables before offering you a pornographic sounding cocktail.

Their food may not be as good, but people's expectations of such places are so much less thanks to the grim arrival of places like TGI Friday and Planet Hollywood. Let us not forget that London restaurants are oh so good at living down to people's expectations.

You can never go back. It is like meeting your once lithe, slim college sweetheart at a reunion only to find that she, like you, is now plump, filled with cynicism and showing signs of wear and tear.

I expect it to be appalling. But, I shall be very sad to hear that it is.

Read below to see what H1 thought of his meal there.

From keyboard man in a rock'n ska band
To haulin' boss crude in the big rigs

The Chicago Rib Shack was one of the first (if not the first) restaurants where I took HS for a meal when he came down to study in London back ’82. In those days it was a bit of a fixture for me on the dining circuit along with Bob Payton’s other gaff, the Chicago Pizza Pie Factory. At the cheaper end of the market there wasn’t really much choice aside from dodgy curry houses, pasta joints, wine bars etc. Bob Payton’s places promised a bit of excitement: American Sports on the TVs, imported beers and, very un-English this, good service.

Roll forward twenty-six years and ‘The Shack’ has been relaunched. Of course these days things are not so simple so an agency was employed to run a campaign on Facebook and drip feed rumours of the restaurant’s imminent return. It seems to have worked though as the agency claim there were 3,000 bookings taken for the opening 72 hours.

When I visited they were still in soft opening mode which didn’t mean I got a discount but did mean I got to eat with fewer people. I can’t remember a lot about the décor of the site’s previous incumbent, Mocoto, but it’s now all exposed brick, dark wood and tables reclaimed from the original Rib Shack which I was surprised to learn limped on until the early nineties.

So what’s the food like ? Well, first, it’s best to bear in mind that the best BBQ is to be found in TX, USA. A few years ago during a DH does Texas road trip I was lucky enough to go to towns like Lockhart where fantastic Q can be eaten, by the pound, at several hangar-like temples to the art. The devotion to Q is pitched at religious levels. Even New Yorkers attempts are seen as utterly risible. So no pressure there then.

As it turned out everything was much as I expected (a common theme these days although I always hope for a surprise) and I’d be surprised if much had changed since my last visit all those years ago.

Aside from ribs there’s all the usual staples that you’d find in similar ersatz joints majoring in Americana like Big Salads, Burgers and Steaks although one or two unusual items stand out like the Suckling Pig.

Since I was planning to go long on ribs for my main course I skipped starters and went for an Dry Martini instead. Ah, the pleasures of the liquid starter.

Of my two types of ribs the Beef ones were better. Though lacking a deep beefy taste the short ribs were moist and tasty and didn’t fall too easily from the bone which I understand from devotees is a good thing. I’ve had better ribs in London at Bodeans but that was five years ago and I’ve heard that it’s not so great these days. The BBQ sauce was good although, in the Texas manner, I prefer it on the side. Other Bits - spiced cubes of potato – were moreish and a pleasant change from chips. The chunky coleslaw was a lot better than the gloopy norm.

My combination platter was not so successful. The Baby Back Ribs were dry, ameliorated somewhat by the sauce, unlike the chicken where no amount of dousing was going to improve matters. I left most of it. The Brisket was cut very thinly and was characterless in taste. The pulled pork was better but you have to really like their sauce as it was over everything. My Other Bits (oo-errrr) in this dish weren’t so good and were slightly cold.

I really wanted to keep in the spirit of things and go for something like Apple Pie or a Banana Split but having two main courses did for me (I tried, I really tried). I did have some decent ice cream – it’s wonderful how a few minutes improve the appetite - but two scoops did seem a bit, well, mean. The prices are not exactly bargain basement either but this is Knightsbridge not some shack in West Texas.

I have to say it’s not an auspicious location for a restaurant. The aforementioned Mocoto and Oliver Peyton’s (no relation) Isola both crashed and burned on this site. It’s also not on the main drag where Harrods is so passing trade may be limited. The owners seem very confident though, when booking you’re confronted with a long list of T&Cs:

Bookings made between 6-8pm Monday - Sunday have a strict 2 hours at the table.

Bookings made between 12noon -2pm Saturday / Sunday and Bank Holidays have a strict 2 hours at the table.

We will be re-allocating this table to other guests after 2 hours.

Your meal is served to you efficiently and comfortably within 2 hours; but do please be on time for your Table!

Our bar will be open for you to enjoy, so arrive early for your table and stay behind for some drinks after dinner.

Bookings made Monday - Sunday 8-10pm

It is highly likely that your table will not be available before 8pm if you do arrive early, you are welcome to enjoy drinks in the bar.

If we are running a few minutes late with your table, don’t worry as you will always get at least 2 hours at the table to………etc etc ad nauseum.

So let’s hope they get enough custom to make table turning a necessity. It would look a bit silly being turfed off your table in an empty restaurant. Mind you, not as silly as me wearing my bib - it's house rules I was told.

STEAK

I crouch on the carpet
Not breathing just being

A good Steak is like a Dry Martini. A deceptively simple thing to prepare but devilishly hard to get right. I make a decent enough Martini (shaken not stirred - prefer them that way chez moi) because I have complete control over the preparation which basically comes down to making sure everything is sufficiently chilled. I can do an ok steak as well, but something was always lacking. I suspected it was my griddle pan which couldn’t possibly be as good as a commercial device.

I decided to have another go a few weekends ago. I tried a new (for me) butcher, Jack O’Shea, who supplies The Fat Duck. A very friendly chap, he started off with a place in Brussels and now has a shop near Harrods. He can do all manner of cuts for you including quite a few South American ones I hadn’t heard of before like Picana. His website features a video of him butchering a Leg of Lamb to produce several different cuts which made me wonder why we don’t get this sort of stuff on TV instead of the usual celebrity-driven guff.

Anyway, he suggested a 40 day aged Forerib. The beef had come from Aberdeen Angus stock raised in West Cork. The rib was a bit large side with the bone in the middle but he split it for me. He’d got some marrow bones on display so I scored a couple of them too.

About an hour or so before cooking I let the steak come to room temperature and got the griddle pan heating up. Jack suggested that I give the steak a good sprinkling of sea salt a few hours before to help to give it a good char.

When I was ready to cook there was a bit of surface moisture on the steaks which I removed then I cooked the steak for 4 minutes per side. I seasoned it and put it straight in a low oven for about ten minutes to let it rest and warm through. I served the steak with the previously roasted the marrow bones and some lightly dressed watercress.

I have to say this was the best steak I’ve ever cooked and the flavour was up there with the best steaks I’d ever had. Damn, it even looked professional. I knew it was good because I’d made a little horseradish sauce and put out some Dijon mustard and I preferred the taste au naturel.

Sometimes I have difficulty finishing large steaks but had no problems this time. The taste was so clean it made very easy eating and I finished the lot. A glass or two of Finca Valpiedra 97 accompanied it very nicely.

Buoyed by my success, I went back a week later and bought a Rib of Beef to have for Sunday lunch chez Dos Hermanos padre. Served with all the trimmings it was rated a great success. A lot of the cuts on display in the shop looked a bit too well trimmed of their fat which is probably how the good bhurgers of Knightsbridge like it. If you want something with more fat, age etc. they seem happy enough to see what they have in stock and butcher for you. I look forward to returning and seeing what their other meats are like – I’ve already tried their Oxtail pie (mmm...pie) which was excellent.

RESTAURANT ONE-O-ONE

So long hey thanks my friend
I guess I'll try my luck again

I visited One-O-One about a year ago with my late much missed dining companion Tony Finch. From memory the room was hideous, the service ok and the food confused, over-complicated and served on odd plates which meant you couldn’t see the food. Worst of all they overcooked my fish. Given that this place is predicated on the life aquatic it was quite a big flaw.

So here I am a year later chugging on a ludicrously large grappa and pondering on the changes after the restaurant’s big refurb. Well, they serve things on white plates now which is a definite improvement. Er…that’s it, Ed. The decor is now less Servisair more BA Club Class but it’s still pretty blah and you just know it cost loads and they will have to recoup their money somehow.

The menu takes the form of several petit plats - and they really are petit - priced at a very un-petit and scary level. So that’s the bill for the refurb taken care of. Not a problem if the food is spectacularly good. Unfortunately, though better than a lot of London fine dining restos the cooking fell somewhat short of somewhere like Rhodes W1.

There were some elements of a good dish to be found in each plate that I had but the tendency to over-elaborate spoiled things, So a fantastically sweet Norwegian scallop paired with some unctuous Pork Belly was let down by the addition of quail eggs, truffle potato moussleine and Citrus Jus Gras (phew) which served just to muddle and mute the flavours.

A good Nantua sauce was the base for some overcooked Halibut but there was also a swirl of some unidentifiable green sauce with yet some more liquid with the Coco beans.

The tendency to throw in the kitchen sink culminated in a car-crash of a dish of Lobster and Veal Sweetbread. The gland was a good size chunk with a pleasant honey glaze sitting in a bit of jus merging into a sea of Vanilla Emulsion washing up on a shore of Saffron Carrot Compote. And just for good measure some segments of citrus fruits thrown in. The microscopically small piece of lobster didn’t stand a chance.

Funnily enough the best part of the meal was the pudding where a sort of cherry soup was topped by ice cream and came with scrumptious, warm churros.

In spite of the failing of the food I still had a good time. The staff were very friendly (although if you do go on about the home-made foccaccia it’s probably not a good idea to serve rock-hard bought-in rolls alongside ). The wine pours were extremely generous especially the aforementioned grappa which was more like a quadruple and took me a good half-hour to finish.

I really wanted to like this gaff more than I actually did but ultimately it’s just another disappointing London expense account fine-dining experience. Everything was probably “just good enough”. I’d probably return if someone else was paying (unlikely) as I only ate a quarter of the menu and there may well be some better dishes in there. Although somehow I doubt it.

Anyway here’s to you Tony. Glug.