CHISOU: "NOT TOO BAD AT ALL" SUSHI IN THE WEST END

My friend, Nick put it perfectly

“It’s good, but it’s not brilliant. Then again, that word is reserved for very few places these days”

He is absolutely spot on. These days, “brilliant” is an all too rare exception and the hunt is for “perfectly fine” or “not bad at all”

Shameful given the amount we have to spend on a meal out in London but all too indicative in the shift of power in the quality:cost ratio as punters are gouged for increasingly little return.

On that basis, Chisou on Princes St is a real little treasure. Very decent food at not too stupid a price served by friendly staff, the perfect place for me to celebrate the anniversary of my trip to Japan at the beginning of EAT MY GLOBE.

Alongside set lunches, a la carte sushi/sashimi offerings and the usual smattering of fried dishes, were some of the Izakaya staples which had become favourites on my visit and Nick’s request for me to order for him and his charming, if wilful thirteen year old daughter, Juliette gave me ample room to see if they passed muster.

Basics dishes such as edamame, tempura and pickles were good indicators of a competent kitchen out back and sashimi of tuna and marinated mackerel were signs that they knew what they were doing behind the open counter in the front of house.

Sushi was less impressive with the rice under sea bream and sweet shrimp nigiri sushi being too cold, but a piece of ungagi (eel) glazed with sweet soy was as good as you are likely to find anywhere in London.

It was the Izakaya dishes, which stood out. Tori Karaage (fried chicken) was crispy and the dense flesh strongly flavoured with soy, garlic and ginger. Best of all, the Yakitori, served as requested, two skewers with sauce, two with salt. Both excellent.

Nick was kind enough to pick up the bill of £100 for three of us including green tea and water, which brings it very firmly into the “not too bad at all” category and, in London at the moment, that is about as good as it's going to get.

MIEN TAY: NEW OLD SCHOOL ON THE KINGSLAND ROAD

Supper last night with my new chum, wine guru, Ashika.

After a few too many reasonably mixed Martinis at The Hoxton Hotel, we swayed gently along Old St and up The Kingsland Road to Mien Tay a brand new Vietnamese restaurant on the site of the short lived Tang Loi

It may be only a few weeks old, but unless you knew, you would assume it was one of the old stalwarts of this street of popular cafes and on a quiet Sunday night there were already diners who, by their conversations with the owner, were repeat visitors.

The menu too is comfortable with many dishes reflecting a strong Chinese influence and all the regular favourites on offer. We began with a decent green papaya salad with shrimps which had the pre-requisite crunch and fire, followed by meaty grilled quail and a couple of soft shell crab on which the batter was a shade too thick and over powered the soft seafood inside. All fairly standard and all competently cooked.

It was good to see goat on the menu and a char grilled plateful spiked with fried garlic and chilli had us fighting over the last scraps of flesh before the best dish of the night was brought out, a whole deep fried sea bream served with lemon grass, chilli and ginger. The skin was crispy, the flesh moist and cooked to a perfect flake.

The bill for two came to £31 + tip for service which was friendly if a little eccentric. The charming waiter asking us if we wanted to taste the bottle of Alvarinho, which Ashika had bought at The Grocery next door. The owner was in full effect and very keen to know what people thought of the food.

Well, he doesn’t have too much to worry about. On this early showing, Mien Tay is a welcome if familiar addition to the Vietnamese neighbourhood.

BACK IN THE KITCHEN AGAIN

There are obviously upsides and downsides to returning home.

One upside is that I have the opportunity to spend an afternoon luxuriating in my bath (sorry if you are eating) drinking a nice Chablis and listening to Vaughan Willams' 5th on the radio.

Another is that I can actually spend time in my kitchen and do some cooking of my own, all too welcome after months on the road.

The downside is that all the people I know, mostly of the opposite genital grouping, come crawling out of the woodwork in search of free food.

Take my friend, Chelsea for example (remember her? Desperate for a man, bit frayed around the edges) The wheels of my plane had barely left a mark on the runway before she was demanding a free feed using the paltry excuse of her 40th birthday as a reason.

I knew she would not stop until I fed her, so spent the afternoon preparing a meal of Indian specialities which I had sampled on my travels

First up, Shingara, Bengali Samosa, plumped out with potato, green chilli, cauliflower and peas served with two sauces, a fiery chilli and corriander dip and a classic mint and cucumber raita. My folding skills being, quite frankly a bit crappy, I made them into spring rolls rather than the standard triangles, different shape same taste.

Next up a raan. A whole leg of mutton marinated in spices overnight and then rubbed with a yoghurt and almond paste before slow roasting for four hours until crunchy on the outside and soft on the inside.

Finally, a Hyderabad style biryani made with chicken marinated in yogurt and spices ( with the skin removed to provide a chef's treat of chicken craklin' natch) layered with par-cooked rice, almonds, fried onions and a sauce I had made the night before.

The fact that she took a load of it back with her in a doggy bag (without asking permission of course, she is Australian) gave me a clue that she may have enjoyed it.

But, then again, so did I.

It’s good to be home.

THE ROCK & SOLE PLAICE

You will all be delighted to know that I am back in Blighty and, although I have severely itchy feet and am already planning my next journey, I am going to make the most of being back in London for the next few months to feed fat on the things I have missed the most.

First of all, of course, to sample the one food item that I have craved above all others on my journey and where better to get my fix than from my own personal food hero, Mr Ian Hartland, purveyor of Mrs King’s Pork Pies? I came away with a prime specimen and also the good news that, from the 4th August, your humble pork pie will be a protected species. If it says Melton Mowbray on the pie, it will have to come from Melton Mowbray. About time.

Then on to satiate the next craving, Fish & Chips obviously. Even the quickest glance at Dos Hermanos will tell you that Fish & Chips are very important to us and that few weeks pass without us finding a new place to try. It seems odd then that one of the few chips shops we had not yet visited is also one of if not the oldest in London.

There has been a fish shop on Endell Street, close to Covent Garden, for over one hundred and forty years and The Rock & Sole Plaice has been there since just after WWII.

It’s a popular spot and, when I arrived a little before Midday, it was already filling with a mix of local suits, trendy ad men and, Japanese tourists who were all carrying an article from a newspaper in which it must have been mentioned.

It looks and smells the part too with fish cooked to order and none of that whiff of stale fat which marks out the also rans.

It’s a shame then that the end result was middling at best. Not bad, but not up there with the best in town. Haddock & Chips with mushy peas was substantial enough for me not to have to worry about supper, but the standard size fish was slightly miserly. The batter on top was crisp, but the sometimes Southern habit of leaving the skin on meant that the underside had already become soggy by the time it hit my table and the chips were flaccid and floury benefitting from a good glug of non-brewed condiment. Don't we all?

£13 inc tip with a cup of tea is not cheap, but probably reflects their rent. The fact there was not a spare seat in the place by the time I left reflects the lack of any other decent chip shop in The West End rather than any quality which would give cause to mention it in the same breath as Master’s Superfish of The Golden Hind.

There will be more Fish & Chip shops before I head off again I am sure and hopefully better than this. I am also sure that there will be more pork pies, but none will be better than those provided by my friend, Ian Hartland.

MANICOMIO

Barely thimbles full of sunshine to go on
There’s an ocean full of midnight rolling right up to the door

Thanks to Jay ‘make sure you get my best side’ Rayner’s article in the Observer Review I’ve been outed as a food blogger. Actually, I’ve been made before: the stained anorak, camera and furtive manner are a dead giveaway. Not a problem if you enjoy the restaurant you’re visiting, like say Quo Vadis, but a bit awkward if you’ve not had a good meal like tonight’s at Manicomio. Actually, not so awkward, I said I didn’t think the cooking was very good because, well, it just wasn’t.

There must be some law or edict, probably from medieval times, that says that food served in the Square Mile must always deliver far less than it promises. I struggle to recall any reasonable meals I’ve had over the past twenty years or so in the area. Sure, there were memorable lunches at Sweeting’s and Gow’s, but that was more down to the quality and quantity of the fine wines we drank over the course of (now legendary) five hour lunches. The City was a very different place in those days.

Manicomi is located in an anonymous alley toward the top of Cheapside. The building is, I read, designed by Norman Foster although you could have fooled me. Probably knocked off by the tea boy one Friday afternoon. It’s neither architecturally interesting nor particularly comfortable inside. Which would be fine if the meal compensated in some way.

The menu is pretty terse but what stood out most were the prices. These are definitely aimed at City employees - don’t the owners know we’re in a recession ? If you’re going to use Rocket, that much abused leaf, at least find and use the best you can. One that tastes peppery and bitter and adds a bit of zing to the whole dish, not the tasteless greenery that was on my plate. The chilli tested more like a mild pepper and didn’t add any of the necessary hint of heat that’s crucial in a dish like this. Surprisingly, the Cuttlefish itself tasted good and was fresh but the preparation showed little sign of the char-grill. The taste was also muted - blanded out by too much ordinary Olive oil in the dressing. There was also some farro which you don’t see that often but it was unadvertised and I didn’t need it in the dish.

Manicomio must use the same grill (the hated vapour variety) as at The Beehive pub because my Sirloin of Black Gold Beef looked very wan. There was little evidence of grilling and it just didn’t look rare. It also came as a tagliata which seemed more like a ruse to disguise how little meat was being served for £22. It went back. Two minutes later it returned with the suggestion I try some first and that the colour was down to the type of beef. I ate a morsel - it was stone cold.

At this point it was a case of leave now or damage limitation with the rest of the menu. The pasta dish replacement was better but not by much. Big lumps of chicken liver which were pale on the outside and raw in the middle sat on decent pasta in an underseasoned broth. Some of the carrot and courgette spaghetti had made its way over from one of the other main courses. I’d really have preferred it if the kitchen didn’t decide to get all thrifty with a twelve quid dish of pasta. It was relentless and dull to eat.

I got a couple of glasses of prosecco knocked off the bill but really I would have paid for them and a lot more if I could have just had a decent meal. I’m really struggling to see what’s Italian about this joint – all the qualities that food from that country exhibits were mostly absent and the meal turned into the familiar City restaurant experience.

Luckily, there is a solution. If you’re in the area you’re not too far away from St Paul's tube station where a couple of stops will take you to L’Anima. There you can get a shot of real Italian soul at not dissimilar prices. It’s your choice.

DINE WITH DOS HERMANOS 2008 - UPDATE

Just to update those of you who are fortunate enough to have procured the golden ticket allowing you entrance to the wonderful word that is the Dos Hermanos dining experience.

You should by now all have received an e-mail informing you of where and when. If not, please e-mail me at smaj35@yahoo.co.uk.

We are quorate now, but if you would still like to come, e-mail me and I can add you to the waiting list.

I shall be speaking to Wasim at Tayyab next week on my return to The Smoke to sort out a menu.

As well what I am sure will be the usual great meal, there will be sizzlin' hot prizes on offer too.

One lucky SOB will walk away with a much prized Dos Hermanos T-shirt (see above and note how it flatters the curves of the fuller figure)

One slightly less lucky person will walk away with a signed copy of THE MAN WHO ATE THE WORLD, the splendid recent work of Jay Rayner ( he does not yet know this, so let's shame him into coughing up at least a copy)

Finally, one person will have their entire meal paid for by Dos Hermanos (fortunately for Bapi and Gavin this is not done on a cuteness basis and names will be drawn from a hat)

More to come.

ARK FISH RESTAURANT

And don't you scream or make a shout
It's nothing you can do about

Hands up who’s heard of Ark Fish Restaurant ? Ok, Ok you can all put your hands down. Nobody likes a smart arse you know. It’s a new one on me anyway.

What if I said Sea Shell of Lisson Grove or Faulkner’s of Hackney ? We’ve all heard of those. Well, the good people who run the Ark Fish Restaurant previously owned and ran the aforementioned Seashell, selling it in 1987, and also Faulkner’s which they offloaded in 2002, which might explain why those two places disappoint despite their pedigree. Ok. History lesson over.

The Ark is in South Woodford, one of those places that if you’re a hip, young urbanite like myself only exists as a tube stop towards the end of the Central Line. A tidy little suburb (there’s loads of bins) where the main headlines are of the “Nights Are Drawing In” variety. It’s where I think cab drivers live as they always seem to be heading in that direction when I want one.

On an anonymous main road running through a largely residential area the Ark stands out. It’s a big restaurant that, though empty when I arrived soon filled up and was full when I left. It’s obviously a bit of a local favourite. And I can see why, there was some very good fish cooking going on in my meal.

For starters peeled prawns were a little workaday but the arrival of the Skate Knobs made me gasp. Hix Chop House’s version were petite things which is what I expected here. These were Skate Knobs with er…knobs on. These behemoths were covered in a thin crispy batter but the frying was so good they were light and not a chore to eat.

The skill in the frying department was equally evident in an excellent fillet of Haddock. The batter casing was thin and delicate and it parted easily to reveal some firm, perfectly cooked, pearly white flakes of fish. The skin had been left on the so that eventually the underside of the fish became a little oily and limp – not so nice to eat - but this had the advantage of protecting the precious flesh. This was one of the few times with F&C that I was much more interested in eating the fish itself rather than the fish/batter combination. Not because the batter was bad but just that it had done its job so well that eating the Haddock was the greater pleasure.

There were some decent chips and marrowfat peas that had been cooked down with a little mint - an idea that’s worth taking up by other F&C restaurants. They weren’t the real thing, but hey, this is the South. A small Tartare sauce was nicely creamy and studded with a mirepoix of gherkins.

I was hoping to try the Ark’s Puds but what with that starter and the size of my main course I like, totally wimped out.

So then, maybe not worth the schlep from town (although I did it easily enough) but if you’re anywhere near the start of the M11 or stuck on the North Circ it would make a pleasing diversion. Those Taxi Drivers obviously know a thing or two.

QUO VADIS REDUXING THE REDUX

It's a total biosphere
The farm in the back
(Acapella)

The other day I walked the length of TCR (Tottenham Court Road) without once being accosted by a Street Fundraiser. It was also a Saturday afternoon. This happens to me all the time. Chuggers, as they are uncharitably known, people with clipboards, attractive women handing out free samples of probiotic yoghurt – they all seem to ignore me.

Personal hygene problems ? Nope. Miserable old git ? Hm. Along with all the good characteristics I have inherited from my parents (no tittering at the back) I have unfortunately developed my father’s tendency to walk around with a scowl-like countenance despite feeling pretty happy most of the time.

I’m happy when baby-sitting my nephew and niece (Yes, Boromama* we are allowed to eat as much chocolate as we like and watch unlimited cartoons until midnight as a special treat and no, we are not trying to pull the wool over your eyes). I’m happy when I arrive in Madrid and go into my first bar for my first cold Mahou and smell the heady aroma of coffee, spanish ciggies and fried fish. I’m happy sitting reading the Sports Section on a Sunday sipping an ice cold Dry Martini whilst a big hunk of meat roasts slowly in the overn and The Dan is on the stereogram. Lots of things make me happy, it’s just that I don’t always show it.

Today’s post is about Quo Vadis. I know, I know, I’ve already done two posts about the place but this time I had the Steak and it sort of fits in with all the recent bovine-related posts on Dos Hermanos.

This last visit was on a Friday night after another hard week and by way of a small commiseration. Burn This has not been a success so the run has been cut short with the consequent disbanding of the Steppenwolf Company (South Yorkshire Branch).

It was quite late by the time I ordered and they had run out of a few items so instead of a two starter strategy and went for a surf and turf, as separate courses.

I know people like to go on about how they prefer shellfish like Crab blah blah and indeed blah but you just can’t beat a good Lobster. This Scottish example was a big bugger which had been simply grilled then dressed with a rough tomato concasse. I started eating it with a knife and fork but discarded them pretty quickly in favour of my bare hands, some lobster crackers and one of those pick things for retrieving the last morsel of rich white flesh from the shell. The juices from the lobster had amalgamated with those from the tomatoes to make a nice little sauce which I mopped up with the good bread.

Turf was a thick Sirloin Steak. Cooked rare and with the fat still on this was one of the best steaks I’ve had. I knew it was going to be good because I could smell it as it was brought to the table. Chips were fantastic – they’re probably the best you can get in London at the moment (in my very humble opinion). There was also a very fine béarnaise and some peas from Secrett’s which were a revelation. They were large, very redolent of pea (very pea-y if you will) with a creamy taste, even though there was no cream. With a big glass of Rioja I was very happy indeed.
I was so full so I toyed with the idea of un trou normand but decided some sorbets and a glass of recciotto would work as well.

After a double espresso manager Nikki Barltrop kindly took me though to the kitchen to meet Head Chef Jean Philippe Patruno and show me the meat locker where the big hunks of Lincolnshire Beef are hung (they’re all butchered on site too).

So now I’ve got a new thing to make me happy - eating at Quo Vadis. I’m pretty sure I had a smile on my face when I left. At least I hope so.

*Bengali for eldest maternal uncle