JOSÉ: UNA ESQUINA ESPAÑOLA

When people realise you’re a bit more interested in food and restaurants than would be considered normal in polite company the first thing they do is ask you what your favourite restaurant is. To be honest I haven’t really got a favourite restaurant. Honest.

What I do like though, what really floats my boat and pulls my chain is propping up a Spanish bar. It’s probably in Madrid, on a cold day with that incandescent sunlight that you get in one of Europe’s highest capital cities. The barman would be of the grumpy tendency but the caña of Mahou he had just poured would be cold and have a thick, creamy head.

I would wait for my free tapa - a piece of tortilla or maybe a handful of cortezas de cerdo - before ordering un ración de jamón ibérico de bellota. He would cut the ham quickly and expertly, laying the slices in an outwardly radiating spiral, finally dropping some picos into the centre. I would take a sip of the cold, slightly bitter beer then pick up a slice of the jamón, oily from the melting fat, between thumb and forefinger. I would hold it up and briefly examine it against the light before shoving it down my gob.

At this point my interrogator would already be walking away, staring at the floor and shaking their head.

José in Bermondsey street is billed as a Sherry Bar but actually that description undersells it. For starters the wine list, whilst it has a good range of sherries has a lot of other good stuff on it (the list was put together by a couple of Masters of Wine). Also I can't think of many sherry bars that have open kitchens with several top chefs beavering away in them.

Decor is clean and functional and as in most places in Spain you have to find yourself a space at the bar or an upturned barrel to eat at - the idea of sitting at tables to eat any other than a proper is unknown in Spain (although that is changing).

Of course, all this would count for nada if the food wasn’t any good. Happily it is. José is an exemplar of the cliché of the best ingredients cooked simply. This is the stuff that all those Spanish Michelin chefs really want to eat on their day off. There will be a new restaurant opening later in the year where I suspect we may see more evolved dishes but for now José more than fits the bill.

A blackboard shows the daily market specials which is supplemented by a longer list on the menu. They're actually more akin to the Spanish media ración in size than tapas but whatever you want to call them the quality of the ingredients used is the key here.

Croquetas de jamón are sometimes a bit oily and over-fried which usually makes me a bit queasy but these were perfect: light, studded with jewel-like bits of ham, I could have eaten several more plates of these. The most fantastic Prawns cooked with a little chilli and garlic and were so good I did order another plate.

Jamón Ibérico is from Manuel Maldonado who is based not far from Jose’s hometown of Cáceres. With jamón it’s all about the cutting – you should be able to the read the maker’s name on the blade through the meat - and while it may sound xenophobic when you have the good stuff you don’t want a guiri wielding the knife. As well as being of exemplary quality this is the best cut jamón you’re going to get in London.

Razor Clams (from Scotland) come simply cooked on the plancha with a bit of chorizo and mint. Almejas are huge and meaty and you'll definitely want some bread to mop up the sherry broth.

Wonderfully fresh Sardines possibly could have done with a bit more char - they can take it - but were wonderfully fresh. Ditto some Mackerel in an escabeche which can be a bit iffy if the fish isn't up to snuff.

Pluma Ibérica (so named because of its resemblance to a feather) is one of those cuts of Pork like secreto and presa that the Spanish go nuts about but which are seldom seen over here. Well-marbled and with a lovely layer of fat it's cooked quickly so still rare inside and served with piquillo peppers. Combine some of the sweet pepper with the rich, rare pork to see what the fuss is about.

Puds are not really a Spanish forte and in lieu of helado mixta a glass of Victoria Ordoñez Malaga No. 2 and some Strawberries and Cherries more than passed muster.

Service is friendly and clued-up and really adds to the great atmosphere of the place – blimey, even a hard-hearted, old curmudgeon like me had a smile on my face (although that may have been the wine).

Three hours of a Saturday lunchtime had never passed more quickly and in a drunken, post-meal tweet I posited the fact that this was currently the best Spanish cooking in London. In the sober light of day I see no reason to retract that statement.

MORE: IS MORE

Two brand spanking new restaurants opening a day apart but separated by much longer in their approach to the food they serve. Yesterday I visited the Eastside Inn in Clerkenwell which I will post about, as we used to say in the Civil Service, in the fullness of time. Today I visited a place that I hadn’t read or heard anything about – a real restaurant bolt from the blue.

When I worked on the South Bank in the early Nineties there were three top notch places to go for a long, usually boozy, lunch (they all were in those days): the estimable Masters Super Fish; Trevor Gulliver’s Fire Station and probably the best of the lot in terms of cooking, Livebait. A few years later when I relocated to the borders of London’s trendy Hoxton, there was another superb restaurant that had just opened called The Real Greek. What all these places had in common were restaurateurs Theodore Kyriakou and Paloma Campbell.

They’ve now sold up and moved on and opened a small restaurant near London Bridge in an area being rebranded as More London. More is going to be open seven days a week for Breakfast, Brunch, Lunch, Dinner and (phew) Takeaway. As Paloma told me they want to provide, well, more.

I was initially drawn in by the interior. After eating out in so many gastropubs which to be honest can be a bit gloomy, or in more upmarket places which are the epitome of good taste i.e. as boring as hell, it was nice to find somewhere with a bit more oomph in the décor. The fab furnishings seemed to have an effect on the efficient staff as well – there were plenty of smiles all round – and made for an agreeable atmosphere. Once they start getting bums on seats More will have a real buzz.

There was also a brightness to the cooking from a menu which drew from sunny regions around the Mediterranean and had echoes of food I’d eaten at The Real Greek.

A dish of braised Squid tasted a lot better than its rustic appearance. Chunks of the small cephalopod were al dente but not at all tough. They came in a deeply flavoured broth enriched with fennel and saffron with flecks of chili adding a welcome kick.

Two fat, pink Lamb cutlets, came with some seasonal vegetables that had been slowly cooked but retained a little bite and were anointed with some of the cooking juices. There was also a big blob of a tremendous smoked Auvergne puree. Roast potatoes needed a bit more crunch but I finished them all anyway.

For sweet my selection of Ice Creams, freshly made every day, were superb in taste and texture and worth the entrance fee alone. Monmouth coffee was, well I don’t need to tell you, do I ?

All apparently simple food, sure, but prepared with such a light hand and with decent ingredients that I felt virtuous just eating it all. And I don’t get to feel virtuous very often.

You might get the impression from the above that I liked More a lot. You’d be right. At the risk of coming over all Sunday Colour supp and sounding like a complete div, it was fresh, fun and funky and I left with a smile on my face. It will be a Month of Sundays before I’ll a) use those words again and b) have a smile on my face so make the most of it pop pickers.

THE COMFY EAMES CHAIR
THE GOOD COPPER PANS
THE '54 STRAT

I have to admit I was getting pretty fed up with all the press reviews of Barrafina (ooh look there’s some fresh prawns that have been fried and that’s not all, there’s some eggs that’ve been transformed into..into..a tortilla..amazing). The thought of intelligent people wetting their knickers because they’ve seen a razor clam is not very edifying. So to try and get away from this hispanophile hysteria I had a hard session down the gym (“move it lardy” etc..) then sauntered down to a new restaurant called Magdelen. Luckily I’d had the wherewithal to book so although the joint was jumping my table was guaranteed (…back of the net).

Magdalen occupies the former site of a Peruvian restaurant called Fina Estampa which if I remember correctly wasn’t wonderful and had a lot of dishes where potatoes were involved. The new place is easy on the eye in a “Thank God David Collins wasn’t involved” sort of way, although I found the lighting level to be at NYC levels i.e. makes your date look good but where’s the food. I was sans date but didn’t care because I had one of my meals of the year. I know, I know it’s only the 18th but please bear with me.

When I eat out my rule of thumb, as always, is to make a decision about the level of cooking within the first few bites of a dish. As soon as I started on my first starter of Cuttlefish with chickpea and gremolata I knew there was some seriously good cooking going on in the kitchen. The whole dish just came together really well – the meaty taste of the cuttlefish and its ink combined with the small tender chickpeas offset by the gremolata and a little chilli farewell.

Hot foie gras was a tranche of liver which had been poached then sauteed and served with pieces of pickled quince in a thickish sherry sauce. The only way the dish could have been improved IMO was by serving it on something like toasted brioche which would have soaked up some of the juice and provided a nice counterpoint. But, hey, props to the chef for keeping it simple.

I’m used to meals failing at this stage but amazingly my next dish outdid both my starters. On the menu it appears as “Thinly sliced pig’s head, pickled red cabbage and fried potatoes”. What actually happens is that the chef has cooked the pig’s head (yes, at the restaurant), removed and combined all the good bits and pressed them. The whole is then very thinly sliced and served warm with a beautifully judged pickled red cabbage. Oh and the fried potatoes are not an afterthought – I got even, crisp, small pieced of sauteed potato sprinkle with parsley. This dish was just brilliant in terms of taste, balance and execution.

I was still waiting for a tailing off in the food when it came to desserts, but Gingerbread Ice Cream and Blood Orange Jelly were again, beautifully executed.

Surely the coffee would be found wanting. Wrong again, the sourcing and execution was immaculate and the combination of Monmouth coffee with exquisite in-house truffles was spot on.

Finally, a word about the service. At all levels it was friendly and professional (special thanks to Shakira who seemed to be serving most of my half of the room but was still sharp enough to catch me taking my snaps and force a confession out of me. - now you know the awful truth).

What are you waiting for - just go there...now !