Food and Drink in London

Soup: a hero

After the grimmer than grim effort at Waterloo Brasserie, I'm pleased to say that my faith in soupe de poisson has been almost instantly restored. The example I had at the quirky Queen's Head & Artichoke just off Regents Park was among the best I've had, certainly outside France. The soup was gloriously warm, both in temperature and in colour, the saffron not overpowering, the fish base long and satisfying and the pre-loaded rouille and Gruyere toasts just the ticket. See? It's not that hard...

Other highlights from this long and slightly boozy Sunday lunch included an immensely satisfying plate of roast beef that only suffered through a slight gravy shortage, a fish tank in the upstairs loo and a well-priced wine list that boasted some very entertaining three-adjective descriptions. All of which I've completely forgotten. The roast, incidentally, included some of the finest roast potatoes I have ever eaten.

Highly recommended.

Queen's Head & Artichoke, 30-32 Albany Street, London NW1 4EA 020 7916 6206

A London marathon

I write today from the Bush tax haven of Seaview, on the Isle of Wight where I have taken my liver for a hard earned break. The past week has been – even by my standards – something of an indulgent tour de force…

Wednesday night: a cheeky jaunt to Acorn House, which Giles Coren described as the most important new London restaurant in decades. Twenty of them in fact. I'll leave the environmental arguments to others, for now, but its policy of sensibly and sensitively preparing the best ingredients – both faithfully seasonal and as local as possible – is fully in line with a trend being echoed throughout the capital. And we’re the richer for it. Even if it weren't bolstered by eco-credentials, Acorn House is a particularly successful example of this trend, a smart and comfortable environment that belies an exterior which only marginally disguises its Kings Cross office block origins, friendly, efficient staff and well prepared, homely fare. I particularly enjoyed an unctuous special of parpadella with lamb ragu. Ceansing ales and prosecco followed in 06 St Chads Place, a fun spot that succeeds in being effortlessly trendy while making a design feature of a improbable floor-to-ceiling rendering of an old Thameslink timetable.

The mildest of hangovers on Thursday was seen off with a pint of Youngs outside the Audley before a fantastic long lunch at Le Gavroche. More on this in a later post, but suffice to say that it fully lived up to its reputation for dependable old school French cuisine at its best backed up by some of the best service it is possible to imagine.

Clearly what we needed after all this was more booze so a short constitutional took us to Providores on Marylebone High Street for a bottle of something cold and fruity. Providores has strong New Zealand heritage and a menu so bewildering in its range of ultra modern and ultra obscure ingredients and techniques that we spent an entertaining half hour playing a fiendishly difficult version of Blankety Blank with the à la carte from upstairs. From there it felt only natural to have a couple of pints and some fantastic Welsh rarebit in the excellent bar at St John before (tick tock) it was Wenlock o’clock and time for some old fashioned pub quiz nonsense. Quite a day. The less said about the kebab on the way home the better.

Friday kicked off with a far more impressive hangover which was overcome first by a bloody Mary and then by yet another fantastic lunch at the Anchor and Hope. The stars this time round were crab on toast, confit duck necks (a triumphant example of how to generate both money and happiness from a waste product), roast lamb with broad bean purée, fillets of red mullet with tapenade and other goodies and a finely judged gooseberry fool to finish. Hard to imagine a better lunch.

After this a rare non-culinary diversion to the very excellent Antony Gormley exhibition before a hastily arranged additional treat, a tasting tour of Borough Market. This was laid on for a gaggle of very deserving food bloggers and journalists by Trusted Places and hosted by Celia Brooks Brown, who between them run such tours on a commercial basis for people who presumably don’t visit the market quite as often as I do. It was interesting enough, though, and made a pleasant change to get my own back on the usual tourist hordes by being on the other side of the camera for a change.

The tour finished off with an oyster and a glass or two in Roast before I had to leave for my next appointment, sharpening cocktails in Milk and Honey and an evening of dim sum and other bits and pieces in Yauatcha. More on this later too. Suffice to say this time that it was mostly notable for the fact that I actually mustered any sort of appetite after the previous day or two.

And so to Saturday and a long anticipated lunch at Magdalen with the London OA crowd. Having become something of a Magdalen bore of late I was particularly keen for this to go well, as it was a first visit for some of the foodie enthusiasts present. I am happy to report a that most items on our special menu were very well received, although the choice of a couple of big poached sea trouts to share for the centrepiece main course was perhaps unfortunate in retrospect: not only did the weather fall a little short of the perky early summer day we were anticipating, it also hardly gave the kitchen a chance to shine. And shine it undoubtedly can (although sadly no longer on the normally too-quiet Saturday lunchtimes).

In all, though, a very successful lunch, followed by an inevitable sojourn to The Rake for an afternoon/evening session that had already descended into messiness when I left and was showing no real signs of letting up. Some members of the party may still be there, although I have a feeling a dangerous move to a private room at Bacchus may have been in the offing...

So you see I deserve – or at the very least need – a few days’ R&R. The next week or so will be characterised by prawn sandwiches, the occasional pint or two of Goddard’s, long walks on the beach and maybe – just maybe – the odd G&T. Wouldn’t want to upset the system, now, would I....?

More rolls, Royce

A meal marked only by the quality, or in this case the quirkiness, of the waiter really doesn't have a lot to recommend it...

The venue was The Garrison on Bermondsey Street, a thoroughfare that always manages to convey a certain happy air: everyone just seems so pleased to be there. There's a decent range of pubs and bars, among which The Garrison is a well established representative of the gastropub genre. It's an attractive space, with regulation scrubbed floors and cleaned up furniture and enough eclectic knick-knackery to remind you that it remains a pub at heart. It's a comfortable enough place for a drink, but the laid up and reserved tables leave little room for doubt that food is the priority.

On the subject of which, I'd tried to book a table at 8ish and been met with the now almost universal response of "I can only do 9:30 or 6:30, but I'll need the table back by 9:15." Please. This is a second string (at best) South London gastropub. Can they really not make enough money if they only fill their tables once an evening? I can (just about) understand this attitude at a destination restaurant, but not a place like this. I decided to call their bluff, go for the early sitting, deliberately arrive late, encourage the others to do the same, and see how they coped with their second sitting. Needless to say we didn't seem to be keeping anyone from their food when we finally left after 10.

The food was OK at best. A clam chowder was tasty enough if a little uneven, some cubes of potato collapsing into a pleasing creaminess, others barely cooked through; smoked salmon was OK; duck liver paté was lazy and horrid and two king prawns atop a spicy salad seemed a poor catch, especially as three had been promised (apparently they were bigger than at lunchtime...). A roast pork ensemble looked the pick of the mains; Alice's tuna was generous in size but alas also in stringiness. I had the "steak du jour", which seems a strange thing to have on a daily roster. If you have a butcher you trust and fancy you can turn out a decent steak surely you'd keep a small selection of classics on the menu all the time? It was a generous enough thick-cut rib-eye but was far from tender and lacked any convincing flavour beyond its over-caramelised outer surface. I insisted on chips rather than the herb mash they wanted to serve. Probably a mistake. Disappointing. We cut our losses and called in a night with coffees rather than desserts.

I was really looking forward to going to the Garrison, having previously only visited for an entertaining Saturday brunch a few years back. I'd checked the sample menu on the website and had high expectations of interesting, seasonal fare. Alas such dishes were conspicuous by their absence, and the only real highlight of the evening was the engaging service we received from the spectacularly monickered Royce Thomas Crown, who made full use of a sense of humour that was presumably the only thing that got him through his school days. Even Royce let us down with the wine list, though. From a Hobson's choice list - single examples of standard international varietals abounded - he steered us in the direction of the house white. Safe to say I won't be making that mistake again.

The Garrison, 99-101 Bermondsey Street, SE1 3XB 020 7089 9355

The Narrow Street Bar & Restaurant?

Three weeks ago I called The Narrow, Gordon Ramsay's new East End pub . . . did they have a table that evening?  Of course not, such is the popularity of the celebrity that the earliest first sitting table offered was on Good Friday.  I took it reasoning I'd have no problem finding people to come with me.  Last Friday turned out to be a beautiful, sunny day, heralding the proper arrival of Summer.  When Antonia and I arrived at the pub Ben was already sat outside, Jess turned up soon after.

The first thing that strikes you is that it definitely has the feeling of a pub - there are people nursing pints outside, there's a short bar menu and there was a big slew of cigarette butts marring the terrace.  The name of the pub had seemingly not changed from its previous incarnation: The pub's signs still announced it as the 'Narrow Street Bar & Restaurant', it's not a bar any more ,it's 'The Narrow' - a pub.  Other things that strengthen its public house credentials are draught London Pride, they also promise a guest real ale, though this was not available when we visited.

The menu and drinks choice are firmly British.  As well as the draft ale, there's also a large range of bottles beers, including many British bottle-conditioned varieties.  They also manage to include English wine (Chapel Down Bacchus Reserve), which even, Jess, an American, found acceptable.  The menu is reassuringly short and seasonal (sides included Jersey Royals and purple sprouting broccoli).  As it was a sunny Friday and we were next to water, I had fish:  potted Cromer crab with toast, followed by deep fried monkfish with chips and mushy peas.  Ben had grilled mackerel with potato salad and then pig's cheeks with mashed neeps.  Jess had the same starter and then, despite Gordon Ramsay's well-known disdain for vegetarians, had the no meat, no fish main course . . . a cheese tart.  Antonia is an actual vegeteranian and had predicted that her choice of dishes available to her would be poor.  She was not wrong.  As a starter she had Welsh rabbit (aka rarebit) and then followed that with the tart.

The mackerel winners won the first round . . . the fish fresh and flavourful, the potatoes waxy, the lamb's lettuce offering a supple crunch.  This is not to say that my crab wasn't good . . . it was, the crab in its lightly spiced butter piled nicely on to toast made from good bread.  Antonia was pretty pleased with her rabbit but it didn't look as good as the one I'd seen at the St John bar a few weeks earlier . . . and that didn't look as good as the slightly over-the-top one I make at home occasionally.  For main courses Ben won again.  The pig's cheek was soft and melting and had a lovely robust flavour.  The cheese tart was less successful with the pastry hard and the filling overcooked.  More alarmingly,in Jess' salad there lurked piece of blue paper!  What would Ramsay the perfectionist say? Or is this ok because it's a pub?  We debated whether to raise a hullabaloo and we thought that Jess had a license to do this owing to her Transatlantic provenance . . . she declined though in the grounds that she didn't want to act like a a typical American and really she was pretty much a Londoner by now.  Fair enough.

For dessert, my choice of a gypsy tart was a mistake.  It's a cloyingly sweet confection of dark muscovado sugar and evaporated milk.  So . . . not really my thing and I shouldn't have been tempted by its name with its intimations of Romany lust.  Nor could the suggested dessert wine hold up to the onslaught of sweetness.  Antonia declined the school-dinner style desserts on offer and went for a Black Velvet.  As to what Ben and Jess had . . . I'll leave them to add that in the comments.

So, overall, what to think?  Well, for a pub it's reasonable food . . . for me the whole project does have a slightly corporate, soulless feel.  My complaint about Ramsay has always been to do with his lack of innovation, but that shouldn't be the main criterion in a pub.  What do i want in a pub?  Tasty food with a degree of comfort about it, a menu that makes sense, fresh ingredients and reasonable prices.  The Narrow ticks all those boxes.  What else does a pub need?  Charm and character . . . Mr Ramsay needs to work on those.

The Narrow, 44 Narrow Street, E14 0207 592 7950

Market leader

Those of us lucky enough to live with an easy commute of Borough Market go there as often as we can. Inevitably, this means taking meals in the area from time to time, but until now that has been a real problem: for such a foodie Mecca it's an astonishingly barren area for decent quality restaurants. Roast is, at best, hit and miss; Fish! does was it says on the tin, usually competently but without flair; Brindisa's tapas bar is underwhelming, expensive and overcrowded. Wrights is the honourable exception, and if you like oysters you're certainly in good shape, but it has always felt like an evening venue to me. For lunch, your best bet has been to graze around the market (no bad thing if you can stand the queues) and/or enjoy the hospitality of one of the excellent local boozers. For interesting beer that probably means The Rake, for a decent freshly made sandwich The Wheatsheaf is the obvious choice.

It's all change, now, though, with the arrival of Magdalen on Tooley Street. An Anchor & Hope style menu in a smart restaurant where you can actually book a table? Sounds like my perfect restaurant. And you know what, it's not far off being just that.

Magdalen is a simple, elegant, welcoming space. New arrivals, certainly when the place isn't too busy, can relax and wait for the rest of their party in an informal reception by the bar before heading through to the main dining area towards the back. This split geography (without the armchairs but with a surprisingly elaborate chandelier) is mirrored upstairs. In this way a restaurant with what must be close to 100 covers feels intimate and warm throughout.

The menu changes sitting by sitting - as menus really should - and for lunch last Saturday offered us a manageable choice of six starters, six mains and six puds. To start, there was a heavy leaning around the table towards the pork and rabbit terrine, a pleasing slab served (properly) at room temperature and with a dollop of damson "cheese" (basically jam but none the worse for that). The terrine was well conceived, the tastes of the individual meats coming through well, while texture and richness were bolstered by unadvertised (but welcome) pistachios and foie gras. Lovely.

My cuttlefish, chickpea and gremolata combo was every bit as good. I could imagine the inky blackness of the sauce putting some people off, but a single bite should be enough to banish all squeamishness. Rich, deep fishiness was offset by the freshness of the camouflaged gremolata and the crunchy lightness of the pulses. Another winner.

We managed just two of the mains between the five of us, I'm afraid, such was the draw of the Longhorn beef parmentier, one of two sharing dishes on the menu. This was great: slow cooked, unctuous meat with a real depth of flavour topped off with some jaunty spuds with just enough crunch. To accompany, some gutsy buttered carrots served directly from a smart copper pan.

Howard confessed to food envy when he saw the rest of us slobbering over our parmentiers, but he was secretly delighted when he began to tuck into his smoked haddock with choucroute, morteau sausage and butter sauce. Like the beef, this proved to be comfort food of the highest quality.

To finish, a bit more diversity: some gingerbread ice cream (subtly spicy but satisfying), rhubarb and custard (sophisticatedly presented to maximise the contrasting colours) and a glass of tasty blood orange jelly topped with a layer of unthickened cream that slipped obligingly into the gaps left by the excavating spoons. All jolly simple and very well judged after a couple of undeniably hearty courses.

In short, a fabulous lunch, and at £50 a head, including a bloody Mary or two, a premier cru Burgundy, a carafe of Barbera, a glass of Sauvignon Blanc, loads of bottled water, coffees all round and service (happily not slapped on as standard) this felt like - and was - exceptional value. Everyone there will, I'm sure, be back. In my case to warm up for the Six Nations on Saturday.

Magdalen, 152 Tooley Street, SE1 2TU. 020 7403 1342

Making a Pig's Ear of it...

[Howard here . . . Over at Ripe London, Jessica runs a dating blog thinly disguised as a food blog.  Here's our own effort along those lines by Nick, our blog secretary, guest-blogging neatly into the role of tragi-comic wooer.  Nick actually submitted this back in December and it's entirely my fault that it's taken until now to appear on the site]

It’s funny how the seasons have themes. Pigs’ ears have been a recurrent theme over recent weeks. First they came deep fried at Tom’s Kitchen. Next, Poppy, my beautiful date, who was to have been my next girlfriend, took me to dinner at the Pig’s Ear on Old Church Street in Chelsea. And then… well… the name of the venue turned out to be sadly prophetic…

Downstairs, the Pig’s Ear is a busy pub. When I arrived at 8.00pm on a Thursday evening you could hardly move. So it was something of a relief to find that the dining room was upstairs and, by comparison, an oasis of calm. Predominantly decorated in dark wood, if felt more like a Montmartre bistro than a boozer or even a gastropub. So much the better. Strangely, though, as I walked in, the overpowering smell was of vinegar. Maybe in Blair’s inverted, anti-elitist Britain, fish and chips are the latest Chelsea “it” food?

Anyway, as Poppy was 45 minutes late, I had plenty of time on my hands. The menu didn’t take long to read, but was pleasing in a low key, seasonal sort of way and left plenty of time to text my extended address book. Just as well, then that nobody was hassling me to order so that they could have the table back soonest.

Eventually Poppy arrived… and announced that the cash machine had swallowed her card and that even though she was treating me, would I mind? Not at all. Just happy not to have to have to launch second or third rounds of texting my address book.

For starters I had what turned out to be a bit like smoked eel on Caesar salad. Good apart from the green bit. Poppy had a slightly indeterminate – but by no means unpleasant - broth with some great big juicy prawns in it. She seemed to enjoy these. And I enjoyed that she’d gone out of her way to emphasise that her past was in the past and that she wasn’t carrying it around as baggage.

For mains, I had venison with red cabbage. As the venison was flavoursome and not too dense, it was a success. Poppy had a succulent piece of halibut that didn’t keep her from saying more good things. We washed this down with a bottle of Chassagne Montrachet. Not particularly well suited to all the food but still good. So much so that by the time we got to dessert Poppy had agreed to a surprise romantic weekend without me even having to think about press ganging her into it. I’m not sure who was more surprised. We celebrated with two spoons and some excellent hazelnut ice cream.

Eventually the bill was as unobtrusive as the service was discrete and charming.

We left as I had hoped we would. Arm in arm, Poppy a little closer actually to becoming my next girlfriend. Until 7.15am the following morning, when she made it be known that she had spent the night thinking about it and had concluded that she didn’t want a relationship. Period. The moral? Over-confidence is a dangerous thing and particularly if you’re somewhere you can make a pig’s ear of  . . .

The Pig's Ear, 35 Old Church Street, Chelsea, London. SW3 5BS   0207 352 2908

Pluming marvellous

It sounds like an East End gangster pub, at least to me, but the Hat and Feathers is London's newest food-inclined drinking establishment.  It's in Clerkenwell which is only vaguely east of the centre and it's recently been renovated after years of neglect.  Attractive and well located, it's a mystery why it hadn't been properly developed earlier.  It had only been open a few days and I wasn't sure if it was serving food yet, so I persuaded Tristan to join me in an exploratory visit last Thursday evening.

Downstairs was really quite busy and once we established that they were serving food we wondered if we'd be able to find seats.  It was definitely a pub.  Lots of drinking, no discernible eating.  If you did manage to sit down here and get some food, you probably wouldn't be that happy eating it there.  It's nice enough but just a bit too cluttered and noisy (all hard surfaces) to enjoy dining there.  We soon discovered that there was an upstairs dining room and so we gathered our beverages and trekked up there.  At this point it became clear that we weren't in a gastropub.  We were in fact two quite separate environments in the same building, downstairs may be a boozer, but upstairs is a significantly formal restaurant.

It's softly lit, there are carpets, there are gaslights and tasteful winter decor.  There are table clothes and cloth napkins.   There are proper waiters.  Yep, it's a fully fledged, rather nice restaurant . . . completely different to the hullabaloo downstairs. The night we went there were only two other parties in the 26 (or so) cover room.  I'll bet it will soon be hard to get a table here.  And the food?  That's rather good too.

The menu is at first glance similar to the one at Bacchus.  It's progressive haute cuisine style food, but slightly toned down to allow a less expensive dining experience.  Bacchus is more adventurous though and at the Hat and Feathers any foams, jellies, sous-vide and the like are kept peripheral or background.  There is also no tasting menu, perhaps an attempt by the restaurant to keep one for one the ground, or at least not run before it can walk.  Each dish - starter, main and dessert has an individual wine pairing available by the glass, with most of these around £6.  This is user-friendly.

Soon after sitting down two complimentary glasses of fizz arrived.  Service was attentive and friendly despite clearly being its early settling-down days.  As a starter, Tristan ordered risotto with poached smoked haddock, saffron foam and chives.  I had confit duck, orange powder, roasted beetroot and Parmesan.  The waiter warned me that this was in fact a kind of salad . . . I ordered it anyway figuring that the confit duck would sufficiently sate my appetite for unhealthy food.  For mains, Tristan had rump of lamb with breads, butternut and mint puree.  I had slow roasted fillet of beef, anchovy crumbs, onion horseradish. 

Tristan was very happy indeed with his risotto - it was competently cooked with the right sense of creaminess, just loose enough.  The fish was very well cooked indeed and the saffron foam added worthwhile interest.  Of course, saffron is a familiar flavour used with risotto (with Osso Bucco) and it's also a well known fish accompaniment.  So, a reasonably clever confluence.  My own salad wasn't quite as good but was certainly interesting and edible.  The orange powder never overwhelmed but and brought thoughts of duck a l'orange, but with a fresher, not-cloying taste.  I'm afraid this was all slightly lost in the frisee lettuce that provided the bulk of the salad - maybe a replacement for this could be found?  The Parmesan was provided as a thin wafer biscuit.  This had an intensely savoury-umaminess . . . delicious.

The main courses featured the smears and such that you'd expect to find in these kind of dishes.  My fillet of beef did not have any of the qualities of a slow roast it was succulent in the way you'd expect of a sous-vide dish.  Indeed, for a normal slow roast you wouldn't use a lean cut like a fillet - what you want is meat with a high degree of fatty interconnection, e.g. braising steak, oxtail, lamb shanks . . . with these the fat melts and you're left with a soft, unctuous meat creation.  I queried the fillet's cooking with the waiter and then later with the chef.  It had been wrapped in cling-film and then cooked at 50 degrees for five hours (he might have said seven).  I do wonder what the difference in end result between this and using a water bath and vacuum sealing would be?  This dish, as with a sous-vide one, will divide audiences, with some preferring greater and variant caramelisation.  For me, though, a beef fillet should be about succulence . . . this was achieved.

The anchovy crumbs could have been more prominent.  The horseradish presentation was clever . . . it was a sorbet, balanced on a small disc of the onion puree:  a joke about its heat.  It tasted good too and matched the beef.  Tristan's lamb was soft and pink and he seemed very pleased with it and quite excited by the entertaining components on his plate.

Dessert looked fiddly, but I like that stuff.  I had 'three strawberries'.  One of these was a firm sponge-mousse-type thing (hmm . . . need the proper term for this) with a jelly top, one was a sorbet and one was fresh in a tartlet case.  There were also three raspberries, sliced artfully on the plate and a line of wonderfully tasty strawberry powder (made by just drying strawberries in an oven and then crushing them).  I started off impressed by the dish, but overall it was just too sweet and I was predominantly left with thoughts of jam.  Tristan had a lemon tart that was not really recognisable as such, but he declared it delicious.

Overall, with a glass of wine with each course, this came to £60 a head, including service.  I haven't really mentioned the wines so far.  To go with the confit I had a Rioja that defied Rioja cliches and matched the dish well.  The felt the Bordeaux that came with the beef was a bit pedestrian.

So, what's the deal with the stark contrast in styles between the restaurant and the bar below?  My guess is that the bar is the real revenue earner whereas Adam Culverwell, the chef, will try to use the restaurant as a springboard for greater things.  That this place really wants to be a restaurant, rather than a pub, is reinforced by the loos . . . I wouldn't normally comment on this kind of thing, but the Hat and Feathers' don't really belong in a boozer . . .

Hat and Feathers, 2 Clerkenwell Road, EC1M 5PQ  02074902244

Local heroes

I was asked the other day where was good to eat around where I lived, and it brought home to me exactly how little I know about my South East London locale. I was so chuffed to find a flat in Zone 2 within a first-time-buyer's budget that I gave little thought to the local establishments: I knew, after all, that London Bridge was less than ten minutes away on the train so not only was central London within easy reach, I would also be living closer than most to Borough Market and its associated pubs and restaurants – no further, time-wise, than when I lived in Borough in fact.

Four years on, I'm slightly ashamed that I still don't know all that much about the area. Although I'd be delighted to be corrected, I really not sure Brockley itself has that much to offer. The pubs (at least the obvious ones) are pretty ropey and, although I've had a few nice simple meals in the reliable local Italian, the procession of ordinary looking curry houses and kebab shops doesn't really encourage exploration at my end of Brockley Road. Slightly further afield, Mr Lawrence (twin wine dealer and gastro-wine bar) probably merits another visits and I know people swear by Babur (so far, I confess, I've been put off by their less than inspiring home delivery operation). And I did see a favourable notice in the Guardian for a Chinese on the way to Forest Hill as well, but other than that...?

It's only a short hop to loads of other SE locations, of course, so there's really no excuse for not exploring. On Friday night I waved down the mystery bus that goes down my road and stepped off ten minutes later at the end of Lordship Lane, East Dulwich. Rich pickings indeed.

First stop, The Palmerston: classic gastro-pubbery. Spruced up pub, scrubbed floors, interesting menu of modern classics, the lot. A decent pint of Timothy Taylor Landlord and a good selection of wines by the glass give the welcome impression of a place determined to hold on to the crucial pub element of The Palmerston's twin status. The food comes highly recommended. I'll definitely be back to try it out.

To Franklins for the main event. An awful lot of people have been misting over fondly and saying to me things like "I haven't been there for years", which once again underlines how rubbish I've been in not going there at all.

From the pub-like front bar we were shown through to the smallish main dining area. They've squeezed a lot of tables in here but it's comfortable enough. Our table was right up against some quite fierce radiators, which threatened to be a problem at the start of the evening but was quickly forgotten when the food started to arrive. I confess to forgetting the name of the red we drank but it fitted my spec (French, not too heavy, interesting) to perfection.

It's hard (for me) not to compare the menu with the Anchor & Hope. It's full of seasonal ingredients, thoughtfully combined and well prepared; it changes every day and is even presented in a very similar style to the A&H. Given that Franklins has been around longer than the Anchor & Hope the comparison should probably be made the other way round. Either way, though, they're both the kind of menu that presents agreeable difficulties when it comes to making choices.

I plumped in the end for the breast of lamb (having turned down the likes of teal and langoustine). Alice went for leeks gribiche. We both got food envy while we were waiting and asked our lovely waitress if we could squeeze in an native oyster each before the starters arrived. We could, so we did. To follow, sole fillets cooked chip-shop style for Alice and partridge for me.

The oysters were perfect, the very essence of the sea. The lamb, as I'd hoped, was Franklins' take on lamb Ste Ménéhould, the brasserie classic I'd read about (but not tried) in Hugh F-W's Meat and Simon Hopkinson's Roast Chicken et al: slowly cooked, pressed and cooled before being breaded and quickly fried in strips. Not bad at all, although the promised mustard turned out to be a light dressing on the accompanying watercress: I'd have preferred something sharp to dip the lamb 'fingers' into. The leeks were fine, the gribiche working well against the smooth flesh, but were perhaps a little low on imagination. The fish was good, the batter nicely lifted from the well cooked flesh, but the accompanying tartare sauce seemed like just another outing for the gribiche – not sure the hard boiled eggs really belonged. The partridge was a bit uneven – dry in one or two places, bloody in others – but was very good overall: well hung and successfully married to some good sloppy black cabbage. Chips and greens were first rate. Hokey pokey ice cream was the definite highlight of the puds. A treacle tart was less successful.

Serious quality food at sensible prices in a warm and welcoming environment. Who could ask for more than that? I'll still be going back regularly to the Anchor & Hope, not least for the big sharing specials, but it's great to know I can get similar fare a little closer to home. And you can even book yourself a table here...

Franklins, 157 Lordship Lane SE22 8HX 020 8299 9598

Small is beautiful

Utobeer has been a regular feature of Borough Market, offering an truly enormous range of bottled beers for sale.  Until recently the beers have only been for off premises consumption though.  This changed in the Summer when the guys opened up a small bar, in the market, called The Rake.  Apparently this is the first 'pub' on the market's grounds for hundreds of years.  However, if you're simply wandering around the market casually you won't find it easily.  It's actually away from the main area at the back of a car park.  It's a tiny, physically separate building, claiming to be the smallest pub in London (13x7 feet for the bar area).

It's probably a mistake to think of this as a pub.  It has an undeniably pub-like name, preparing one for Hogarthian bawd.  Actually I've just checked the meaning of 'bawd' and, no, I wasn't expecting that.  It also has two real ales on draught, affirming its pub credentials.  But look around you . . . where's the furry fabric induced, pub style cosiness?  It's all steel cabling, glass and light coloured wood.  And what are all these bottled beers? See . . . it's a bar.  Bit of a hybrid then.

The main room is absolutely tiny so they've extended the available space with a well styled beer garden - high fences, decking, umbrellas, more than enough chairs (there's a stack of these on the wall - a simple thing that most pubs and bars just don't get right).  There are also outdoor heaters which should extend the usability of the garden into Winter.

The beers are clearly the main draw here.  There are over 1200 bottled beers available from all over the world.  American micro-brews nestle alongside African organics, continental lagers live in harmony with independent bottle-conditioned brews.  As well as the real ales, there are several continental beers on draught:  Veltins pilsner, Sierra Nevada pale ale (the, um North American continent, that is), Duchesse de Bourgogne by Verhaeghe, Kwak and Kriek.  I  started with the Duchesse, an extraordinary tasting beer - sweet and sour.  I followed this with a bottle of Northern Light from the Orkney brewery. 

This place considerably boosted my spirits after the slightly disappointing trip to Roast.  I recommend venturing beyond the delights of Stoney Street and progressing to the Rake.

The Rake, 14 Winchester Walk, SE1 9AG  0207 407 0557

Beauty spot

Something a little different on Friday with a trip out to Wells in Somerset for a birthday meal. This was a hastily rearranged treat after the otherwise perfect Lettonie in Bath turned out to have closed down several years ago! So much for the Internet.

The second choice venue, The Old Spot, proved to be ideal: top quality seasonal ingredients prepared under the careful eye of Ian Bates, a former colleague of Simon Hopkinson, whose Roast Chicken and Other Stories is rightly fêted as a king amongst cookbooks. I'm looking forward to receiving Second Helpings in my Christmas stocking, mum!

The restaurant is informal, neat and tidy, the staff (there seemed a lot for a small place) friendly and efficient, and the food top-drawer. Highlights were a fantastic game terrine, a silky squid and chorizo combo to start and a leg of rabbit and lentils that hit all the right notes. Vegetarian options were limited to one per course but were none the worse for that (apparently). Prices are probably higher than most for Wells but at  £25 for three courses will hold few scares for those dropping in from London. The wine list is short, interesting, helpfully annotated and also well priced.

It's a great spot, The Old Spot. Like Jay Rayner in the Observer, who made the trip in the summer, I'm not sure it's worth the journey from London, but if you're in the area - even vaguely - it's definitely worth a diversion. I, for one, will be back: apart from anything else it would be great to have a look round Wells in the daytime.

The Old Spot, 12 Sadler Street, Wells, Somerset. 01749 689 099