LAUNCESTON PLACE: A LUNCHTIME BARGAIN

Quite often, I receive e-mails from friends asking me to recommend the ‘best bargain” in London and, just as often, I receive a quizzical reply to my response that it is lunch at Le Gavroche, one of London’s oldest temples to fine dining, rather than one of our ethnic eateries.

It may seem odd to recommend a meal costing just shy of £50 as a “bargain” but it truly is one of the best opportunities to experience one of the great restaurants, with that price covering everything from the moment you enter the door to the moment you leave filled with three courses of wonderful cooking and cosseted by the legendary service.

The set lunch at high-end restaurants is one of London’s undiscovered treasures and also a way to secure a spot at some of the hardest to book tables in town. So, when my good chum, Nick asked me to suggest a place for lunch, my thoughts turned to Launceston Place, recommended to me by a number of people for its daytime menu of three courses for £18.

The restaurant itself needed no introduction. During my years at Penguin Books, it was an all too regular haunt when schmoozing clients. The food was “polite” as HP calls it, rather than memorable and service was charming and discreet, which it needed to be given that Princess Diana was regularly to be seen pushing her food around the plate while dining in the company of an elderly Lady In Waiting.

That was in the 90’s and less than a year ago, this now tired old restaurant was rescued by the D&D group (Conran to you and me) its room given a sparkly new makeover and the kitchen put in the control of former Petrus wunderkind, Tristan Welch.

Nick, being a man who actually has to work for a living, was running a bit late, so I occupied myself in the small bar area with a couple of newspapers, a glass of wine and more than one helping of some terrific onion crisps with a cheddar cheese dip. By the time Nick finally burst through the door looking flustered and apologetic, it was almost 2.30pm and fast approaching the end of service. If this put the staff out one little bit, they did not show it and we were given a lovely table in a room that shows where every penny has been spent.

The lunch offers three choices in each course and our amuse appeared quickly in the form of a small cup of delicious celeriac soup with slivered almonds and hazelnut oil. Just good enough to overcome my strong dislike little cups of something as an amuse.

Our first courses appeared a little too quickly particularly when one of them was a Spider Crab risotto, but first tastes of both that and a Cobb Chicken Terrine showed that this was a very able kitchen. The terrine was served at the perfect temperature and, like all good examples should, had a variety of textures and perfect seasoning. A little slick of slow poached egg yolk added a touch of richness to the dish. The risotto had the deep flavour that only comes from a great stock and the little slick of herby garlic butter on top added an extra burst on the tongue.

Main courses too, were exemplary. My own slivers of smoked bacon fell apart to the touch and although the accompanying braised onions were covered in a sauce that shows a youthful love of foams and fancies, the overall dish was a perfect combination of Autumn flavours. Nick’s choice of Venison casserole too showed a good seasonal touch. Nick stalks deer himself and can gralloch them to boot, so his sucking the bone clean of meat and marrow spoke volumes about the enjoyment of his choice.

By now, the restaurant was empty but for us and still the staff remained unflustered as we sat in the declining Sunlight through the window and finished our glasses of a slightly undistinguished Qupe Syrah. a light pre-dessert of caramel crème topped with little nuggets of bonfire night toffee came as we waited for our shared dessert, a Tarte Tatin. What was presented was as pleasing example as you are likely to find in London with a slightly chewy caramel topping, apples; sharp, soft but still holding their shape and a crispy, flaky pastry base. Nick, who spends enviable chunks of his time in France, declared it as good as he encounters there.

By the time the staff finally lost patience and suggested we move to the bar as we lingered over cups of tea, it was time to get the bill anyway and Nick, being Nick picked up the tab. Without the wine, our bill would have come to about £25 a head including service. A veritable bargain for three courses, amuse and pre-dessert of very good cooking indeed and served with charm.

It may just be that Le Gavroche has some competition next time someone asks me to recommend the best bargain lunch in the capital.

CAFFE CALDESI: THE BATTLE OF THE HAMS

“It’s the best ham in the world” our charming server at Caffe Caldesi told us giving that dreamy look that only Italians can manage when thinking about fine food.

She was wrong of course, San Daniele ham is stunning stuff, but pales beside its Spanish counterpart, Jamon Iberico. More of that later, however.

I was having lunch with not one, but two publicity gurus from John Murray, my rather excellent publishing company. Lucy and Nikki came with spreadsheets in hand to explain how they were about to persuade the press and the world at large that one fat man’s journey around the world to gorge himself senseless might just be worthy of coverage. I don’t know about the media, but they had me convinced.

As usual when I have lunch/supper with anyone, it was left to me to select a venue. I suspect the fact that I do this here blog has something to do with that, but I don’t mind particularly as it gives me an opportunity to play. In this case, with the words “light” and “local” in mind, I lit upon Caffe Caldesi, the junior sibling of Giancarlo and Katie Caldesi’s more formal Tuscan joint in Marylebone.

The room is perfect, light and airy and just enough buzz to make it fun while not inducing the need to scream. The menu too, while pricier than the cooking deserves, offers enough options to eat both sensibly of heartily as your mood demands.

Nikki and Lucy were both persuaded by the offer of the ham and thick, meaty strips came on a wooden platter topped with creamy mozzarella. What I tasted was good and there is a good reason why San Daniele is in Serie A of the world’s hams, the mozzarella too prompted slightly improper moans from my two companions.

My own starter of fritto misto involved well-fried, fresh prawns, whitebait and squid in decent enough portions for me to allow wandering hands to creep across the table in sample mode.

Main courses were more workaday, well at least mine was and, while the orange sauce napped on top of my duck breast carried with it happy memories of old school tratt’s, the bird underneath was overcooked to grey. Lucy’s pasta with seafood and Nikki’s beetroot tortellini both looked a whole lot more interesting but with knowledge of the afternoon ahead of me, I left them to their own devices.

Hardly a world changing experience but why should every meal strive to achieve that? Caffe Caldesi provides a solid, if pricey option for an agreeable business lunch.

Now back to that ham, or in this case Jamon. The reason I glazed over when San Daniele was described as “the best in then world” was because my afternoon saw me taking up an invitation from the good people of Brindisa to taste the new release of the Joselito Gran Reserva Iberico Jamon.

For those of you who don’t know these hams, they are cured for a minimum of eighteen months and are the ne plus ultra of piggy legs. To my mind at least, they are the greatest food product on the face of the earth and no one produces better than Joselito. a family run firm with hundreds of acres of land in Spain’s Extremadura region Joselito a reputation for producing the best of the best and their pigs feed on the rich acorns which give Iberico its famous flavour.

No one has done more than Brindisa to promote fine Spanish food in the U.K as the queues at Borough Market prove and they did not let us down at this event with two fine small hams being carved expertly by Zack and Jose before being layered on to plates where, as they came up to temperature, the fat glistened as it melted.

It is hard to explain how good Iberico is to someone who has not tried it. The soft, silky texture of the meat, the warm, acorn rich fat melting in the mouth and the lingering savoury aftertaste. All I can say is that, if you have not tried it, then you have missed on of the food world’s very best experience.

So, now the new hams are in, get yourself down to Brindisa to try some. Oh, and there is a stall selling San Daniele there too, so you can do your own comparison and come back and tell me how right I am. Mind you, I already know that.

TRISHNA: A TRANSPLANT TO BE REJECTED

I have a problem.

In fact I have any number of problems, but the one relevant to the matter at hand is that I cannot for the life of me understand why people try to shoehorn ethnic cuisines into Western fine dining styles as if to say they have to be presented this way to be considered worthwhile. It seldom ever works and, particularly with Indian food, evolved over centuries to be eaten by large families and with enjoyment more of an issue than decorum, the failing becomes even more obvious.


So, when HP told me he had a booking for Trishna, a new transplant from Mumbai, I had my doubts. Budget and time restraints precluded me visiting the original branch on my travels through India, but my research showed me that, while the room is considered shabby, Trishna is well known for its seafood dishes and in particular its butter, pepper and garlic king crabs.

Well, it’s London sibling is a much smarter operation and the small tables in the dining area were filled to overflowing with plates and a variety of wine glasses that reflected the offer of wine pairings with each dish. There was a long cocktail list too as well as an incongruously large list of spirits, but after our evening before in the bar at Rules, we were on our best behaviour ordering just a beer for HP and tap water for me.

I am always wary when someone offers to explain the concept of their menu particularly when they don’t speak loud enough for you to understand what they are saying, but the menu at Trishna is simple enough with a suggestion that you choose a dish per person from a list of pakora, a dish each from those cooked on the charcoal grill and one each from the main course list of “Trishna” dishes.

Some workaday papads came with a coriander chutney that, while fiery enough lacked a burst of lime juice to contrast. I should send them my recipe. Things perked up considerably with the arrival of superb, greaseless pakora of lentils, onions and coriander leaf which came with a terrific and suitably sour tamarind dipping sauce.

Our communication problems with our server continued as we waited for our second choice pakora of plaice that I overheard being described to a neighbouring table as “Indian, Tempura style fish & chips” I would have loved to have found out if that culinary Esperanto actually worked, but the dish never arrived even after the second time of asking and, in the end, we told them not to bother.

Instead, we were presented with a dish of bream cooked on the charcoal and covered in more green chilli and coriander masala. While the fish was very good indeed and cooked to a perfect flake, the accompanying “charred tomato kachumber” lacked any spicing and simply became chopped up watery tomatoes.

Two little lamb cutlets made our eyes water. Not because of over spicing but because they cost £10.50 which puts them right up there with those at Fino as the most expensive slices of lambykins in the city. The taste was good but HP sighed “it just makes you want to be at Tayyabs” and he was right.

The signature dish both here and in the mother ship in India is the crab and the London version uses Cornish crabs that compare favourably to the best in the world. I can’t make a comparison of the dishes in the two branches, but imagine that the gourmands of Mumbai wouldn’t be too thrilled with the little claws and shell that came to us at a whopping £17.50. I am no great fan of crab served in the shell, too much faff for not enough reward. True to form, all our efforts here led to the excavation of small amounts of very good, sweet meat but barely repaid the sweat beads which formed on our brow. The much vaunted butter, pepper and garlic did little but coat the shell and contributed little to the dish other than extra mess.

As we cleaned our fingers, our final dish arrived, a whole baby chicken roasted with a while lentil marinade and curry leaf. It looked a little dry and anaemic as I began to dissect it into equal portions and we waited for our side dishes of Hyderabadi dal, breads and house made yoghurt to arrive before tucking in. We waited and waited and waited and finally, at the second time of asking, they arrived just as our chicken was nice and cold. They dealt with it well, clearing the table and bringing new dishes out at the same time and it was just about worth the wait. The breads, in three varieties, were exemplary if miniature versions of the real thing, the dal had been spiced with a good tarka and the strained yoghurt was thick and creamy. The second chicken too was moist and spicy but only made me long for the ne plus ultra of tandoori chickens at Bukhara in New Delhi.

Our young server or “whispering Bob” as he became known apologised many times for the error and, although I am of the Homer Simpson “don’t keep blaming yourself. Just blame yourself once and get over it” school, I think his managers and the owner could have done more to help their stretched staff than glad hand with a procession friends and family who seemed to fill most of the other tables.

HP’s eyes lit up when the front of house told us that, as it was still a soft opening, there was a 50% reduction on the food portion of our bill, but dipped again with another sigh as we realised that they had included the cost of the undelivered pakora despite our specific request to make sure that they did not. It exemplified the whole meal and even a bill of £42 compared to over £75 did little to warm us to the experience.

By the time we left, the place was filling up and we slunk out with not a “goodbye” thrown in our direction compounding what had been a pretty miserable experience leaving us to decide that, despite some decent tastes, this transplant is going to need a large dose of warmth and competence drugs to stop the new body rejecting it.

RULES: GAME ON AT LONDON'S BEST NEW BAR

HERMANO PRIMERO SPEAKS
It was a cold and wet evening. I was in London's famous West End to meet HS but being a bit early I'd whiled away some time in Stanfords looking at maps and planning our next Iberian adventure. There was still some time to kill before we met up so I went looking for a small boîte where I could have a quiet drink and contemplate life, the universe and well, everything.

All the pubs were full, packed with the lager swilling B&T crowd. As I passed Rules Restaurant I thought about DH's last visit to this famous old institution. I remembered an old guy lunching by himself. He'd been seated at what was his usual table and was brought what was his usual drink: a Martini. Very dry. Very cold. With a twist. Maybe Rules had a bar ?

I entered and enquired if I could just have a drink. The FOH motioned towards a door I'd never noticed before. I went through the door and up the stairs where a member of staff welcomed me with a friendly "Will you be joining us for a drink this evening ?". I liked this place immediately. The bar was small with just a handful of tables, some occupied by groups enjoying a preprandial glass of champagne.

I ordered a Dry Martini. It came in a chilled conical glass and was very good. I chatted with the bartender, Michael, about cocktails, unusual bitters and the like and ordered another drink. This time a Negroni, made with Cinzano Orancio and finished with some Poire William. An excellent cocktail with all the flavours coming through separately yet working
perfectly in unison. This was obviously a place which took its drinks seriously. I needed to find out more. This was obviously a job for that student (for we never stop learning) of the cocktail: Hermano Segundo.

HERMANO SEGUNDO SPEAKS
Regular readers of the blog will have noticed that HP is the less binary of DH. He is more forgiving of bad restaurants (well, some anyway) and less gushing about good ones. So, as I sat at the bar of The Cork & Bottle on Saturday, sipping on a very good but very expensive Albariño, I was surprised to receive an effusive phone call from him regaling tales of a new and “secret” bar just opened in a former private dining room at London’s oldest restaurant, Rules.

Cocktails are rapidly becoming an obsession with me to rival that of food (cut to image of image of Dr Choudry shaking head as he looks at reports of high liver enzymes) and I truly believe that the great cocktail mixers are as talented and passionate as great chefs. They are usually nicer people too, but that’s story’s for another time.

The man in charge is Brian Silva. Formerly of The Connaught and one of the revered quartet old school of bartenders that included Salvatore Calabrese, Peter Dorelli from the American Bar at The Savoy and Gilberto Preti of Duke’s, Brian has now turned his considerable skills to the revival of the bar at Rules and has created what is arguably the most interesting back bar in the city with many bottles from his own collection.

After making sure he was due to be working, DH bundled up on a cold Tuesday night to find Brian busy mixing Sazeracs, the oldest cocktail of all, for a couple at the bar and we quickly decided that we should stand at watch the expert rather than sit on the rather uncomfortable seats. Usually, I am slightly didactic when it comes to cocktails believing that the mixer’s skill in making one of five cocktails (for the record, The Manhattan, The Martini, The Sazerac, The Old Fashioned and The Daquiri) tells you all you need to know, but when presented with a man of Brian’s provenance and obvious ability I was happy to leave myself in his hands.

What followed was a happy blur of the mixer’s art. Slings, sours, new twists on Bloody Mary’s and even a slightly wicked concoction using Absinthe, which I had to push away for fear of the inevitable consequences. Like a successful tasting menu in a great restaurant, not everything worked for me but the flawless execution in the making was apparent. Also like me, Brian thinks cocktails should be about booze and balance not fruit. In an age when untrained barmen think throwing as many berries in a glass and adding 'tini at the endof the name is cocktail making, his mixing is a welcome oasis to so much of the dross out there.

It is not all flawless, but appropriately for a place that has changed glacially over the last two centuries, Rules is taking it steady and doing it properly. Some sofas are being made for those of a larger behind and gamey bar snacks will soon be on offer alongside the slabs of well kept Monty’s Cheddar already available. With cocktails beginning at £10.50, comparable to many hotels and mixing of this quality, DH have quickly marked down this little gem of a bar as one of our “go to” places when the wicked world gets too much for us.

MANZE: PIE & MASH FOR NOT MUCH CASH

What a difference one little letter makes.

Last week, DH dined at Maze and for just over £100 came out considerably less than whelmed by an experience that quite frankly evidenced the shallow, depressing nature of our city’s current dining scene.

Move on a few days and add an “N” and I found myself in a utilitarian, austere dining room that has been feeding Londoners, honest, good value food for just over 100 years.

The original Tower Bridge branch of Manze’s Pie & Mash shop opened in 1902 and precious little seems to have changed since then. Pies are still made on site daily, fresh eels are cooked in liquor to be served warm or jellied and mashed potatoes are piled onto plates to fill the stomachs of a mixed crowd of office workers, locals and, nowadays, tourists brave enough to walk this far South of the bridge.

I was driven to make the great march down from Old St after last week’s dispiriting meal at The Hat and Tun, where a risible and ill researched attempt at pie & mash (not forgetting that dreadful Scotch egg) saw me leave £15 the worse off. I realised that it had been far too long since I had tried the real thing and so bundled up in Bermondsey just after the shop opened at 11am to join the line that had already formed.

The menu is limited and the biggest decision to be made is how many pies? How many spoonfuls of mash? Eels, stewed or jellied and, most important of all, tea, cup or mug? Once you have got over that, the food is spooned out immediately and I squeezed myself into one of the communal tables where a family of South Londoners, having lunch with their “Nan” were taking great glee in the fact that they had all been given court appearance dates on the same day.

No one would ever claim pie & mash to be fine food, but for £5, I was presented with a hefty plate containing a meaty pie with a delicious filling and flaky pastry crust and a handful of eels from which to suck the flesh before discarding the bones on the side of the plate. An added dash of vinegar sharpened up the parsley rich liquor, which I soaked up with slightly gluey mashed potatoes and the whole lot was washed down with a large mug of strong tea.

London is ever changing, of course and this most unfashionable of establishments is becoming one of an increasingly rare breed as demographics and dining habits change. I don’t mind that, London is after all predicated on constant change, but I couldn’t help thinking how unlikely it is that, in another hundred years, anyone will wander in to The Hat and Tun or Maze for a meal that has fortified generations.

To confirm the gentrification of the area, across from Manze’s on a corner where I was regularly accosted by ladies of the night while waiting for a bus back to Peckham after a student pub crawl, I came across sixwineseight (www.sixwineseight.com), a smart wine retailer with an interesting twist.

Opened just under a year ago, sixwineseight, eschews the idea of classifying wines by grape or country in favour of offering them by styles and occasions with, as the name suggests, a rotation of six wines available in each of eight categories. It is the sort of smart idea that will have the purists fuming, but on a cursory inspection they have some interesting choices at very reasonable prices, starting at £5 a bottle.

Well worth a visit and, perhaps if Manze’s started offering BYOB to the new affluent residents of Bermondsey, it might well be around for another hundred years. Er, Maybe not.

FLASH: IN THE PAN

Was it really two years ago that DH visited the last pop-up restaurant of note, The Reindeer ? Run by those good people behind Bistrotheque, the popular East London restaurant, it was a lot of fun and the food wasn’t too bad as I remember.

Now they’ve come up with a new temporary restaurant Flash (ahh ahh) as part of GK Contemporary at The Royal Academy. To quote from the blurb “FLASH isn't The Reindeer (Boo); there won't be a tree covered in fake snow anywhere in sight (and presumably no gamine types prancing around in pixie outfits)”. It’s also temporary in the sense that it won’t be around for ever but will be with us for almost three months which doesn’t seem very flash or true to the guerrilla spirit at all. More like a hard-nosed business decision.

There was also some other guff about “exciting restaurant space…blah blah…installation..blah blah” which meant zilch to me but back in the dog days of July it seemed worth a punt. So on Saturday after a drop or two of a fine Albarino at the Cork and Bottle we made our way over to the RA where the joint was jumping in the West Room.

The only problem was there was no joint to jump. We’d got a phone call earlier in the day to say that because of problems with the extractor fan there would be no grilled dishes (but there would be 50% off the food). This sort of ripped the heart of the menu out for me as I had my eye on the Cote de Boeuf or the Grilled Duck with Foie Gras. Oh well.

The aforementioned installation seemed to consist of walls built of packing cases with some paintings and decorations placed here and there and an ornate lampshade overlooking the scene. All pleasant enough and an ok place to eat in but we didn’t really feel part of some cutting edge dining experience.

When they said there was a discount off the food I didn’t realise they meant the portion sizes would be reduced by 50% as well. Take the Ham Hock and Eel Terrine that I had. It was a clever combination: the smokiness of the eel working well with the slight sweetness of the ham. But it was served in a waffer thin portion. I only hope future diners get a bit more for their £8.50. HS’s crab was better - a big mound of fresh crustacean meat interspersed with some nuggets of avocado. The spinach was unnecessary. We ate a third starter of marinated beets without comment.

My Roast Cod was an excellent piece of fish. It came with a crisp skin and had been cooked perfectly - no mean feat especially in an unfamiliar kitchen. The supporting extras were not bad either: some microgreens, fennel and a sauce vierge, but as with my terrine it was a pretty mean serving of fish. HS pronounced his Fish Taco merely ‘ok’ which may have been to do with the fact he is just back from LA where such food is done better and cheaper.

The long wait for pudding meant that when they eventually arrived we were ready to leave so they just came on as a series of sweet squidgy things which had started to melt with the odd crispy bit thrown in. HS tells me we had Ginger Parfait, Orange Pannacotta and a comped Lemon Trifle but really they could have been anything.

I have a theory that the best time to visit a new restaurant is in its first couple of weeks. My experiences are that the staff are extra-enthusiastic and while there may be one or two problems the cooking is probably is good as it’s ever going to get. There are exceptions of course, for example the chef who likes to develop their menus over time and take their patrons with them. But these are few and far between.

In the case of Flash I actually think that the cooking could get better, there was enough good stuff going on to suggest the kitchen knows what its doing. The problem for me is that there wasn’t enough occasion to dining here to differentiate it from anywhere else. It’s just a pretty expensive restaurant that will be around for a finite period of time. HS's reaction to the meal was a shrug of the shoulders which encapsulates our thoughts precisely.