GOODMAN: BENNY & BEEF

Despite the availability of great Beef, London still suffers from a dearth of good places to eat it, particularly in the form known as the Steak House. Yes, I know it’s more of an American institution but there’s no reason we shouldn’t be able to do it properly over here.

The concept, for want of a better word, is pretty straightforward: decent, well-hung meat, butchered into thick steaks and cooked at a fearsomely high temperature for a short time, seasoned generously then allowed to rest…and rest. Served with good chips and some greenery on the side together with some sauces, Béarnaise preferably. A list of classic cocktails – no molecular mixology, please – some beer and wine. Oh and maybe some desserts which will be unnecessary but you’ll have them anyway. Instead what do we get ? Sloppily-made cocktails, underhung , badly butchered beef, cooked with little care, nasty wines and a big bill at the end.

Anyway, the latest place to try and fill this yawning gap is Goodman in Mayfair. It’s part of a big chain of Moscow-based Steak Houses and presumably will make the large number of Russian expats feel right at home.

Before getting intimately involved with large lumps of protein, however, we found ourselves just down the road for a glass or two in Terroirs, a new Wine Bar near Trafalgar Square. Like Steak Houses there’s not nearly enough Wine Bars in Town: somewhere you can go and get a glass or two of decent wine and a bite of something.

Initially, things looked promising. On a Friday evening in a part of London’s West End where most hostelries were mobbed and somewhat rowdy, Terroirs stood out as an oasis of middle-class calm, selling wine and small plates to an older impeccably-behaved crowd. However, the execution, like (it pains me to say) a lot of things in this city, was a bit half-arsed. After spending an age (you really don’t want to know why) getting to a point where we had a carafe of warm white wine, £7.50 plus service seemed a lot of money to pay for some Duck Scratchings that were really Duck crumbs, a few Olives and some anchovies. Getting the bill was pretty tortuous too. Still, it may just have been an off-night and it’s probably the best of a bad bunch in tourist central.

Back to the main event. Before they were open, Goodman, from the outside appeared rather chain-like but once inside it actually grew on me. They’ve managed to get that clubby feel of the classic US Steak House off pat: all dark wood and leather banquettes although some nice crisp white napery would have added a touch of class.

It’s a pleasingly uncomplicated menu with a decent list of starters to distract you while your cow is cooked. HS’s Caesar Salad looked a bit desultory. The croutons weren’t great and I’m not sure what slices of bacon/pancetta were doing in there but he seemed to enjoy it and really liked the dressing. Likewise my Beef Carpaccio which looked like it had been pre-plated but they’d at least allowed it to come to room temperature so that you could actually taste the beef which was decent There was a bit too much lemon but it didn’t stop me cleaning my plate with the excellent bread.
If you’re not in the mood for a steak (and if not, what on earth are you doing here ?) there’s some fish dishes, Burgers, Lamb and the like. For normal people the range of Steaks is actually quite small but we’re told that the list will be er…beefed up later on. For now you get a choice of Aussie or USDA wet-aged beef in 350g or 400g sizes (250g for the fillet). You get to examine the raw material beforehand and it all looked nice and thick and well-marbled.

I was told my USDA Rib-Eye was best cooked medium-rare. As it turned out it was prepared more towards the rare side but was good nevertheless. They’ve got a Josper grill in the kitchen and the result is that the meat gets an almost smoky-tasting char on the outside. That and the extra fat that you get in a rib-eye adds to the great taste as well. Not up there with the best dry-aged grass fed varieties but a very honourable performance.

The Aussie Strip was a decent-looking piece of meat as well. Although requested rare it came more medium done. It too, had the same good char as the Rib-Eye but the flavour didn’t really match – it was comparatively uninteresting to eat. Chips were good and DS was more than happy with his Creamed Spinach topped with Gruyere.

From our choice of sauces the Béarnaise had a good tarragon tang and was suitably wobbly, the less said about the Goodman steak sauce the better (as HS says: a restaurant’s eponymous sauce is something best avoided).

In true Steak House stylee we finished off with some totally unnecessary Cheesecake and Ice Cream (homemade) and apart from some odd-tasting Pistachio it was all very enjoyable and made us feel ever-so-slightly queasy for having eaten so much which is usually the aim of our dinners out.

I don’t think Goodman will oust either of our current fave places for a good steak in the capital: Quo Vadis and Hawksmoor, but given that the staff actually seem to give a damn - as borne out by long discussions with waiter Crispin and manager David – I think they’re heading in the right direction and we look forward to when they get some grass-fed British beef that will be aged onsite in the restaurant’s meat locker.

SUNDAY LUNCH: WHAT'S YOUR SIGNATURE?

So, what's your signature dish?

Indeed, you may have more than one, dishes that you turn to very time you want to make a "no chance of failure meal" or dishes that other people beg you to cook for them whenever it's your turn to play host.

Mine? well, I don't have many. I tend to leave cooking to those with a lot more skill than me in the kitchen, while I just make appreciative noises at the end results. But, I do have a few. My LSD (Life Saving Dahl) is a thing of beauty, my pies draw sighs and I can make a steak & kidney pudding that should be put in a time capsule for future generations to marvel at.

However, when it comes ot my turn to cook Sunday lunch, HP's lower lip begins to shake a little if the word "mutton" is not used and, over the years, I have refined my method for stuffing and slow cooking a shoulder cut until the meat falls apart at the slightest fork pressure.

This time mutton from Farmer Sharp (a bargain with enough to feed four coming in at £11) was stuffed with ingredients from my chum, Mehmet at Embassy Electrical Supplies. He was touting his fine goods on a new stall at Whitecross Street Market and I came away with wild oregano and sweet paprika dried on the terraces of his farms in Cyprus and Turkey, preserved lemons and oil from the same to which I added lots of chopped garlic.

I rolled and marinaded the joint overnight and then sealed the roasting dish with a double layer of foil before low and slow cooking for nearly five hours with the foil being removed for the last half hour so I could skim off the fat and crisp up the skin.

It's a great dish, even if I do say so myself and with some simple wilted greens and some crushed cannelini beans mixed with more of Mehmet's oil and oregano, HP could hardly even muster a traditional Bengali criticism ("was the good butcher closed today?" etc etc)

I suspect I shall be doing this again sooner rather than later.

So, that's one of my signature dishes. What are yours?

THORNBRIDGE: FANCY A BREW?

Well, of course, my main reason to head up North last week was to spend time with my adoring family. They love me so no one else has to. But, the fact that Alex Buchanan, marketing guru for Thornbridge brewery had invited me to spend a day with them watching the magical transformation of malt, hops, yeast and water into falling down juice, was an added incentive.

Despite the sheeting rain, Thornbridge Hall is an impressive place set in over one hundred acres of land and the small brewery area at the back was already buzzing with activity as three of the brewers were hard at work.

Thornbridge brewery is owned in part by Jim Harrison, resident at the hall, and in part by Dave Wickett, the man behind of one of my favourite Northern beer makers, Kelham Island and they have taken on a young team to make their range of beers with each member barely more than thirty years old.

Despite their youth, their dedication and attention to detail is something to watch and it wasn’t long before, with cup of tea in hand obviously, I was watching Matthew Clark, a former Chef, cleaning casks for racking off the conditioned beer, Stefano Cossi, a food technologist from Italy, peering at yeast strains through the lens of a microscope and, David Pickering, the most experienced and travelled brewer, rubbing hops between his hands to release the oils before choosing the perfect mix for the daily brew.

They only make one ten barrel batch a day, but the fact they brew five times a week has allowed them to create a wide range of beers including the strong Jaipur IPA (available at Waitrose, beer fans) Kipling, another IPA, but made in the style more common in New Zealand and Halcyon, another IPA, but one where fresh hops are added to the beer in the conditioning tanks rather than during mashing to give a fantastic fruity aroma.

It’s all good stuff. Very good in fact, but my beer of choice is their remarkable Saint Petersburg Imperial Russian Stout, which packs a punch at nearly 8% but has a deliciously smooth chocolate note to the finish. They gave me a sample of a batch, which had been bottled conditioned and aged in whisky casks. I have it earmarked for Christmas .

By the time it came time for me to leave, the skies had cleared and Alex gave me a tour of the stunning grounds before generously loading me up with plenty of beer to take away including a couple of bottles of seriously strong Alliance, brewed with American beer legend, Garrett Oliver when he visited recently. At 11% it’s practically barley wine and I have been too afraid to go near it yet. But, I do heartily recommend their beers and, if you are not inclined to line up at beer festivals with middle aged, pork pie eating, Jethro tull loving men like DH, check the shelves of your decent off licences or supermarket where they are becoming more widely available.

MAC & CHEESE: EVAN & BIBA

Believe it or not, DH have a softer side, which usually only comes to light when we are in the presence of our rather splendid nephew and niece, Evan and Biba.

Last week it was my turn to don the mantle of “jolly uncle” and look after them while my sister and brother in law attended what you young folk apparently call a “gig” by the popular beat combo he manages, The Lords of Flatbush.

The apples in the DH family do not fall very far from the tree and, when asked how they would like to spend time in the company of their beloved relative, the idea of Nintendo and CBBC were swept aside in favour of cooking, a fact which gladdened my fatty heart, even if their supper de choix was the dreaded Mac & Cheese, second only to pizza in the vile food stakes.

Still, as Evan stirred the cheese sauce and Biba carefully grated strong cheddar before layering them in a dish and topping with tomatoes and more cheese, it took me back to my own days as child where our kitchen was filled with the odd combo of smells that could only come from a mum cooking for a half Welsh, half Bengali family.

The end result was deemed a success by all concerned and I even forced down a mouthful or two myself, leaving the rest to be enjoyed by the little ones. However, the doting relative thing can only be taken so far and, when if came to the battle for the last “meaty crumbs” of a porkie pie selected specially for my visit, it was only the trembling of lower lips which prevented me from rediscovering my inner bastard as I handed them over to be sucked up by small, appreciative mouths.

Next time, however, I shall not be so generous. They have to learn the harsh ways of the world sometime and how better to demonstrate that that their uncle depriving them of their favourite food?

BOCCA DI LUPO: MOUTHFULS OF GOOD ITALIAN IN SOHO

In this business we call food blogging, you develop a sixth sense, the ability to know when a new place is going to be bad, when the food and service are going to try and out suck each other and when the smell of flop sweat from the staff is going compete with the stench of rancid oil from the kitchen. You go along anyway, as HP puts it “to confirm what you already know”

It doesn’t help when you call to confirm your table and the person on the end of the line tells you “we are still having some problems” and that they would “totally understand if you want to rearrange your reservation” The last time that happened, we sat over plates of insipid food at Flash pondering that even 50% off the food bill would do little to drag our mood from the slough of despond.

We knew all of this about Bocca Di Lupo before we even turned down Archer St, a little alleyway in SOHO that I only remember because it once was home to The Charlie Chester Casino, a gathering point for East End villains and old school theatrical luvvies. We knew that they had only opened the night before, we knew that the construction work on the room had not been completed and we knew that, despite the soft opening prices, we were going to come away with a bad taste in our mouths. We do it so you don’t have to.

We were wrong.

Bocca di Lupo, is going to be a hot ticket. It may not be completed yet, but the dining room with its open kitchen and bar seating for impromptu dining is going to be a sure fire hit with a SOHO crowd tired of queuing at Barrafina or looking for a change from the ever growing range of Spanish restaurants in the neighbourhood.

The chef, Jacob Kenedy, formerly of Moro, has returned from a stint in Italy and his menu is predicated on small or large plates and covering salumi, friti, pastas and risotto, stews and grills, which allow you to construct your own meal based on appetite and budget. Given the 50% off soft opening offer, HP insisted we take the opportunity to “fill our boots” as we worked our way through the menu and filled our narrow table to capacity.

The list of crudi and salumi is small, but a plate of Tuscan “head cheese” showed that this is a kitchen with serious chops. Perfect texture and temperature, with only the possible addition of some grilled bread needed to complete the dish.

Likewise a small plate of Friti di Mare showed a lightness of touch with greaseless frying of prawns, squid and soft shell crab complimented by the clever addition of feather light slices of deep fried lemon. The Friti Romano was less successful. Sweetbreads need to be treated gently and tighten to little bullets when flash fried as they were here, but the fried artichoke was better breaking into creamy portions when divided between the two of us.

Kenedy has obviously enjoyed his travels and the menu reflects this with dishes from across Italy, the next up being a faultless risotto from Piemonte made with slightly chalky caranoli rice, bone marrow, Barolo wine and radicchio to add an agreeable touch of bitterness.

The real joy of Bocca di Lupo, however is its sausages. A house made cotechino came on a well-prepared bed of lentils and with a fig mostarda so good we immediately asked for an extra plate of it. But, it was the Modena banger that had us purring with lumps of glistening back fat adding creaminess and pork rind adding texture to the perfectly seasoned meat. Likewise, although a plate of uber-trendy farro made savoury with porcini was soon cleared up and a side dish of caponata confirmed that the kitchen has a deft touch with vegetables too, it was the meaty pork & foie gras sausages that caught the attention in our final dish and had us mopping up the juices with the last of our bread.

By this stage in a meal, we are normally pissed off enough to ask for a the bill and head out into the streets shaking our heads, but food like this makes you want to linger. When the front of house, also formerly of Moro, informed us that the gelati machine, brought over from Italy was only one of two of its type in the country, HP’s eyes lit up like a 14yr old given a hooker as a Christmas present. Desserts were, to continue the theme, excellent with three flavoursome scoops proving why gelati beats ice cream hands down every time and an old school rum baba showing plentiful booze and the same lightness we had experienced all through the meal.

Our bill, even with the opening offer, was a substantial £100, which reflects our boot filling mission, two large grappa and some up selling on the part of our helpful waiter who moved us up from an £11 carafe of red from the small selection to a £19 one with magician like dexterity. A meal for two would be about £60 which reflects terrific value for cooking of this quality.

Bocca di Lupo, apparently means “the mouth of the wolf” and this welcome addition to our moribund scene is definitely a place worth howling from the rooftops about.