Food and Drink in London

Roberta's - Brooklyn beckons

Last night Antonia and I went to Roberta's, a neighbourhood pizza restaurant in a frankly terrifying back street in Brooklyn. This is what we had (meat and veggie options listed in approximately the order they appeared):

Oyster with Meyer lemon granite (lovely)
(veg) Apple with straciatella, sorrel and black pepper

Cuttlefish and oxtail (the cuttlefish cut - and cooked - like pasta. Really successful combination with a deep oxtail ragu)
Linguine with cockles, uni and pepper/chilli
(veg) Orichietti with kale (I think. Might have been chard. I was too busy indulging in salt and pepper heaven on the other side of the table to check)

Powk jowl, black garlic, uni puree (not exactly sure what black garlic is. Left a bit of a bitter aftertaste but worked well enough as a whole. The uni and the pork were particularly successful)
(veg) Beetroot with pear, hazelnut and smoked ricotta

Stiped bass collar (from a 15lb monster) with razorclam, rainbow chard and chanterelles (Huge! Brilliantly crispy on top - moist and meaty underneath. Ironically, given what was to follow, big enough to be a main in itself.)
(veg) Chard, shrooms and egg yolk

Foie gras, frozen figs and olive caramel (wonderful foie, the other elements giving great sweetness but hard to pick out in their own right)
(veg) Chicory with blue cheese

Rack of venison with persimmon and husk cherries (physallis I think...?) (Rare to the point of rawness but none the worse for that)
(veg) Romanesque with husk cherries and black garlic

(veg) Pizza with mozzerrella, tallegio, parmesan, black pepper and honey. White truffle shaved over at the table. (An absolute delight)

Steak (Deckel. Not familiar with this cut but I think it's the fatty extremity of the ribeye) with sweetbreads, leek and fingerling potatoes. More white truffle. (Just beautiful)

Cheese (three of them)

Lemon mousse (I think) with pine nuts, pine nut brittle and parsley (genius)

All this, remember, in a neighbourhood pizza joint. Although some of this food is on the menu, most of the regulars (and it was packed) seemed to have no idea that as well as the pizza oven turning out what looked like top-notch traditional pizzas, there was a entirely separate kitchen turning out some outstandingly creative and delicious food with some fantastic seasonal ingredients.

The chef had arranged this tasting menu as a favour to a local foodie friend who in the end was unable to join us. Big thanks to Joel (with whom we'll definitely be sharing a meal here on the next trip) for making the original arrangements, and especially to Carlo, whose infectious enthusiasm is more than matched by his talent in the kitchen.

I'll be amazed if this doesn't not turn out to be the highlight of a New York holiday that has already included some stonking burgers and a sublime meal at 11 Madison Park and promises more delights at Daniel tonight.

Roberta's 261 Moore St Brooklyn, NY +1 718-417-1118

 

Brockley - gateway to Tayyabs

Everything changed today: at a little after seven this morning, a new London Overground train left Brockley station for the first time.

There are few round these parts who haven't been getting slightly giddy about the transformation of the old East London Line from a little-used anomaly - I've been going to Shoreditch nearly every day for the past ten years and I've still never located the station that used to serve as the northern terminus - into a genuinely useful artery that provides north and south Londoners - and even the good burghers of Croydon - with direct access to docklands, the City (ish) and funky East London. It means Brockley now appears on the London tube map. Most of all, though, it means I can get to and from Tayyabs in no time.

I realise, though, that there will be some out there whose life isn't ruled by lamb chops and seekh kebabs (poor fools), and for them, the appearance of Brockley on the tube map will trigger idle curiosity rather than fevered anticipation. For their benefit, then, I offer the following round-up of the culinary highlights in this unsung corner of London.

Around the station

Descend from the shabby portakabin that is Brockley station (no gleaming new architecture on this stretch of the line I'm afraid) onto Coulgate Street, home of the often life-saving Speedicars and two neighbouring coffee options: Broca and Browns of Brockley, the first, a hippyish worthy kind of place (they have a brilliant organic food hall over on the over side of the tracks), the second a bit more of a funky deli (although they've recently moved squarely towards the coffee-shop and dropped most of the produce lines). Both do really good coffee if you need reviving after the journey.

Bear right at Browns and you'll bump into The Brockley Barge. It's a Weatherspoons. That's probably all you need to know. But assuming you can tear yourself from the siren temptation of cheap lager and house doubles, it's worth looking in at Degustation, an excellent little French outlet over the road. Lots of charcuterie, good fresh bread, a lot of jars and cans familiar from French supermarkets and a great selection of carefully sourced French wine. This stretch of Coulgate Street is also home to a jerk chicken place I confess I haven't tried yet and a well-regarded Vietnamese take-away.

Brockley Road

Step onto the main drag of Brockley Road and you're confronted with the first of a seemingly endless number of fried chicken establishments. I can't comment on the quality - I'm not sure what I'd be comparing it with - but the kebab shop a couple of doors down is pretty good and the Essence of India is a reliable if unshowy take-away option. There's more to Brockley than take-aways, though, and round the corner into Harefield Road you'll find The Orchard, a relative newcomer that's somewhere between a neighbourhood restaurant serving decent gastropub fare and the kind of wine bar/cum cafe where yummy mummies hang out during the day (more on them shortly). It's a welcome addition to the area and one hopes it fares better than a number of other failed ventures that have occupied the same spot over the past few years.

At this point things appear to dry up, but it's worth pressing on towards Crofton Park. In fact this is a recurring theme: Brockley Road is a long, drawn out affair with a few random points of interest along the way. It's the American football of thoroughfares.

The next flurry of commercial establishments includes what appears to be a popular local Thai restaurant, almost certainly some more fried chicken, at least one bookmaker and Brockley Mess, another newish establishment and certainly another welcome addition to the local scene. Part gallery and part upmarket cafe it does a good breakfast and looks after the rest of those yummy mummies very well indeed.

Crofton Park

Purists will argue that this is falling out of the Brockley brief slightly - Crofton Park has its own station after all - but for the purposes of this post I'm going to treat anything on Brockley Road as fair game. So in the knot of businesses around Crofton Park station (17 minutes from Victoria, apparently, but not on the tube map so will probably destined to remain invisible to most Londoners) you'll find the famous Rivoli Ballroom, a couple of local supermarkets and two decent eating options. Jam Circus is a popular pub/bar in the same mould as The Orchard but with much more heritage. Decent steaks and other gastropub grub feature on the menu and it's a regular live music venue.

And over the road is Mr Lawrence, one of the treasures of the area. It's actually a pair of businesses, an independent wine merchant on one side and an unreconstructed wine bar on the other. Don't be put off by the anti-shoplifter gate in the shop: once you're past that you'll find a fantastic selection of spirits, beers and wines. The emphasis is on France: Mr Lawrence, who you'll usually find behind the bar next door, sources much of it himself. The bar does tapas-style bar snacks and a few more substantial dishes but the emphasis is on helping him reduce his stock levels by emptying bottles into tiny glasses that probably haven't been replaced since the seventies. A perfect spot to finish an evening.

Also in this neck of the woods, if you can find it, is Peter James, a very good, old-fashioned family butchers.

Honor Oak Park

If you have the stamina (and can escape Mr Lawrence's gravitational pull), it's definitely worth pushing on down to the far end of Brockley Road. Or, of course, you can stay on the shiny new train for an extra stop and go to Honor Oak Park station. There's a couple of decent places to eat and drink around the station apparently but I haven't had the pleasure: by the time I've made it down this far I'm only really interested in either Italian or Indian. The first takes the form of Le Querce, home of excellent ice cream, a bewildering number of daily specials, home-cured bresaola and dangerous grappa. And at the same latitude you'll find Babur, possibly the only genuine culinary reason for visiting this neck of the woods. Named London's best inexpensive restaurant by Harden's last year, Babur does refined, well-flavoured dishes from all around India and regularly has regional or seasonal themes. Definitely worth a trip. One day I may even get round to reviewing it properly. I've only been here eight and half years...

Your final port of call on this tour of Brockley (verging on Forest Hill by now) is The Honor Oak, a decent modern pub right at the end of the main drag. A good looking menu meets the needs of a youngish clientele and there's often food stalls out front.

So that's it. I'm acutely aware this has been a very selective journey, focusing only on the options along Brockley Road but these are the places most obviously made accessible by the new tube stations. Other local highlights include a shiny new gastropub (The Talbot) and the perennially popular Meze Mangal, but these are both marginally better served by St Johns station.

But even this brief round-up reinforces the fact that there's more variety and quality to be found in SE4 than first impressions might suggest. You won't find a Starbucks (thank god), and you will be distracted by more chicken shacks than is strictly necessary, but there is plenty out there, much of which has opened relatively recently. Here's hoping the influx of new visitors brought by the new trains will cause this trend to continue.

Bar Boulud - Bouluddy marvellous

Regular readers (I know you're out there somewhere) may have noticed I've dined a few times of late with one Chris Pople of Cheese and Biscuits fame (and I mean fame - he's the current go-to man for news and radio comment on the food blogging phenomenon). I'd like to take this opportunity to scotch any rumours... he's far too male for my tastes. He does, though, have a knack for snagging reservations at the hottest new restaurants, and I'm quite happy to tag along when I get the chance. So when he got in touch on Sunday suggesting dinner the following day at a place called Bar Boulud I was immediately intrigued.

Neither Chris nor the third member of the party hadn't heard of Daniel Boulud before but both had seen the buzz about his place on Twitter and read up on his back-story; for me it was the other way round: I'd taken my eye off the rumour mill so didn't know about his London debut but I knew a bit about Daniel Boulud, or at least the New York restaurant that takes his first name. Once I'd made the connection I was up for it like a shot.

Bar Boulud is to be found in some newly snazzed-up rooms in the lower reaches of the Mandarin Oriental. This is a hotel a mere precious stone's throw from Harrods so it's interesting to find such an accessible and affordable dining option among such exclusive, expensive surroundings. Later this year the same hotel will be home to Heston Blumenthal's first London foray, and although it seems unlikely he'll be indulging in quite the same level of expensive whimsy he does so well at The Fat Duck, I'm willing to bet you won't be able to get a burger and chips for twelve quid. You can in Bar Boulud.

And what's more you should: the burgers were among the highlights of a fantastic first Bar Boulud experience. Before them, though, came a sharing platter of charcuterie, patés and terrines. This was a generous portion for £14. I'd been angling for the bigger platter but, with the boudin blanc we ordered alongside, this was plenty for three. Just as well I was talked down: the restaurant had Googled Chris's name (either before or after the we got the cameras out, I'm not sure) and decided we merited special treatment, in this case a chat with Daniel himself and a few bonus dishes for us to try.

Anyway, of the cold meat selection the highlights were probably the jellied pulled rabbit and a lamb terrine that had distinct Tayyabs overtones. Never a bad thing. The boudin was excellent too: pillowy in texture and delicately peppery.

The first freebie was a block each of rillon: slow cooked smoked pork belly that was beautifully tender but with fantastically bacony crunch.

The mains were also spot on. Chris was momentarily distracted by some complimentary boudin noir and feeling more than a little daunted by all the special treatment (a discomfort henceforth to be known as the freebie-jeebies) so I snaffled a bit of his roast chicken with wild garlic. And it was good. Decent roast chicken that actually tastes of chicken is a rare thing indeed a restaurant. Almost as rare, in fact, as coq au vin, which was my choice. This was the real deal: three chunkly pieces of leg and thigh falling off the bone but still juicy, an inky black sauce and (I suspect) more of that rillon as part of the garniture. On the side a little pot of exceptional spätzle that made the waiter come over all unnecessary when I was ordering.

Dan had the piggie burger. It's odd to see burgers on a menu that's otherwise so relentlessly French but let's face it: the French know about both meat and sandwiches so why shouldn't they be able to perfect a burger? Turns out they can. Perfect pinkness, perfect seasoning, perfect fries, perfect bun: this was surely the perfect burger... Until we got to try another freebie, "The Frenchie", which ticked all of these boxes but also some another ones we hadn't considered before. Some umami alchemy involving confit pork and Morbier cheese rendered this the best burger I can recall tasting. And I've had a few.

After all this, we were too stuffed to contemplate pudding so we allowed ourselves to be upsold some macarons with our coffee instead. The strawberry ones were a bit jammy dodger for my taste but the hazelnut versions were cracking.

We were lucky enough to have a second chat with Daniel, who won't be in town for long, and the general manager, in whose safe hands the place will soon be left. We may have been getting special treatment because of our alleged importance as food bloggers but they both seemed genuinely delighted with our positive reaction to the food, interested in anything we thought could be improved and generally thoroughly enthusiastic about what had clearly been a very successful opening week. We were even shown the guest list for a "little gathering" of fellow chefs who were coming over later that evening: Robuchon, Atherton, Darroze, Hartnett, Blumenthal, Blanc, Wareing, Galvin, Bossi... There were 40-odd in total and it was like a Who's Who of current UK cheffery. With Gary Rhodes and Brian Turner thrown in. Boulud is already joining this list of household foodie names and on the evidence of this first meal it's easy to see why.

Bar Boulud, Mandarin Oriental, 66 Knightsbridge SW1X 7LA 020 7201 3899

The Fat Duck: finding perfection

I had dinner at Tayyabs the other night. It was a bit of a boys' night. Lots of Belgian beer and much-travelled Gewurtztraminer. There were gins beforehand and a martini or two afterwards. Messy, but enormous fun.

At some point during the evening the raucous conversation drifted temporarily away from children and enormous tax bills (neither of which I know much about) and touched tentatively on social media (which I do). My chums are so busy structuring financial products - whatever that means - or developing the IT systems that make such things possible that they barely acknowledge the existence of the internet; they certainly don't have time for such trivialities as Facebook and Twitter. Not for the first time I had to talk them through the phenomenal and ongoing success of the former and try to explain the latter to them from first principles. I was armed with lots of facts and figures but none of it made a lot of impact. They don't get it; perhaps they never will.

The only time I came close to hitting the mark in defence of Twitter was when I explained that without it I wouldn't have had the chance to go to The Fat Duck last weekend. But even that fact was soon lost when yet another platter of sizzling lamb chops arrived. Tayyabs will do that to you. Conversation dries up in the heat of the meat.

The fact remains, though, that the six of us who descended on Bray last Saturday wouldn't have been there without Twitter. Chris, from the very excellent Cheese and Biscuits, had made a speculative booking a couple of months ago and decided to invite dining companions from the Twitterverse. I leapt on his tweet with indecent haste.

The last time I went to the Fat Duck was back in 2002. It only, I think, had one star at the time but it was still a step up from anything I had ever eaten before. A tasting menu was novel enough; the fact that it included beetroot jellies, mustard ice cream and parsnip cornflakes took dining to a whole new level for a chap not yet versed in the ways of modern gastronomy. At one point, in a moment of high, if slightly creepy, theatre, the waiters hovered behind us to deliver a single spoonful of white chocolate and caviar directly into our mouths. And told us not to chew. In a precursor of the blog that was to follow I composed a slightly giddy email to friends and family afterwards that was little more than a list of the dozen or so dishes with a few additional tasting notes thrown in. I dined out on it for months.

I said at the time I didn't think I would need to go back anytime soon. I was glad I'd been but I wasn't completely convinced that the clever bells and whistles were really for me. I suspected, I think, that it was all froth and no substance; that it was a restaurant very pleased with itself for its clever tricks but that it had forgotten (or simply overlooked) the importance of providing a Good Lunch. I also had no desire to be spoon-fed again. Not by someone fully clothed at any rate.

Eight years on a few things have changed. The Fat Duck has two more stars and has been consistently heralded one of the top two or three restaurants in the world. Heston Blumenthal has managed to establish a solid media career without apparently diluting his mad professor brand. And I have been eating in lots of restaurants. Definitely time to go back.

I'm not going to go into chapter and verse about the meal we had over four or five glorious hours in Bray. Those who are interested can read Chris's review. Partly this is because I don't think I can do a better job than Chris in capturing the joy that is the Fat Duck dining experience. But mostly I just want to whet your appetite - and not spoil the surprise. The pictures below (and on Chris's blog) will give you some idea of the fun but they can't give you the full sensory experience. For that you must go for yourself. And I mean 'must'.

But what I will say is that this lunch was a whole lot more than just the sum of its undoubtedly clever parts. For a start, pretty much every single frippery, every waft of dry ice and every dissolving gold watch, was there because it successfully enhanced the experience. I'm not completely convinced about the famous iPod delivering seagull and wave noises during the Sound of the Sea course but that may have been because we all slightly had the giggles at that point (someone - ahem - had made a Blackadder-style joke about a seahorse's willy among the edible seaweed). But even there you could appreciate the sound theory.

Most important, though, is the overall impression that what we had on Saturday was a Good Lunch. Possibly the best I've ever had. Each dish had its share of fun, interest or challenge (sometimes all at the same time) and each boasted flavours that not only worked really well together but could be picked apart individually if so desired. The progression of dishes flowed beautifully, too, and the wine pairing was (with the possible exception of the big Douro that came with the already challenging salmon and liquorice dish) spot on.

When we sat down at the start of the meal the Maitre d' asked us how we were all feeling. When most of said "hungry" he was visibly delighted. It's possible, although frankly unlikely, that the twinkle in his eye (evident in just about everyone who works there) even intensified as he assured us the restaurant would rise to the challenge of sating that hunger. By the end of the meal it was clear his confidence - and his twinkle - had not been misplaced. This was a meal that delivered on every level: it may have been whimsical, technical and occasionally challenging but the point is that it was also delightful, rewarding and overwhelmingly satisfying. It's hard enough to pull off any of these individually. That The Fat Duck succeeds on all of them - and does so in style - suggests it deserves every plaudit it gets.

The traditional roll call of dishes follows: a little more colourful, this time, than a simple email, but deliberately light on comment. Book a table. Now.

The Fat Duck, High Street, Bray, Berkshire: SL6 2AQ 01628 580 333

Lime Grove: Lime mousse poached in liquid nitrogen and dusted with green tea

Red cabbage gazpacho with mustard ice cream

Jelly of quail, crayfish cream, chicken liver parfait and truffle toast.

The same dish receiving a spectacular boost of oak moss fumes

Snail porridge with Jabugo ham and shaved fennel

Roast foie gras, rhubarb, braised konbu (me neither) and crab biscuit

Mock turtle soup

Sound of the Sea

Salmon poached in liquorice with artichokes, golden trout roe, vanilla mayonnaise and Manni olive oil.

Powdered Anjou pigeon, blood pudding and confit of umbles (in this case pigeon heart). Dated circa 1720, this is one of Heston's reinventions.

Lamb with cucumber (this was off-menu so no detailed description I'm afraid)

"Mash". Reason enough to book a table in itself.

Another bonus dish. Pork belly with truffled spelt gratin, green cabbage choucroute and shaved truffle. To paraphrase Marina O'Laughlin from an old review in Metro, this smelt like something nice girls aren't supposed to know about...

Hot and iced tea. Genius.

A rhubarb 'tart' with a wand of coconut and rhubarb sorbet

Taffety tart with caramelised apple, fennel, rose and candied lemon. Based on a recipe from around 1660.

Egg and bacon ice cream (made at the table in liquid nitrogen) with pain perdu. Not the first time this has featured on the blog, but the first time I've had it. Fantastic.

The "BFG", a smaller, more refined version of the black forest gateau Heston devised in his In Search of Perfection series.

Whisk(e)y wine gums

Edible playing card, one of the treats in the "Like a kid in a sweet shop" bag we all received. Other highlights included a toffee with an edible wrapper and some chewy 'tobacco'. Good fun.

Dean Street Townhouse: old school dinners

I've still never been to Theo Randall. I'm sure it's wonderful and everything but I'm afraid the dodgy treatment meted out almost exactly two years ago still leaves a rather nasty taste in the mouth. That's not to say I'll never go, but it's unlikely to find itself high on the list - and it certainly didn't feature when it came to select a venue when Valentine's Day came around this year.

It felt right to go out for dinner on Valentine's Day this year, more so perhaps than other years, when I've usually been put off by resentment of its artificiality and a certainty that I'd be ripped off by greedy restaurateurs. But when you're living - and now working - together, and spending more than a little of your spare collective time messing about in the kitchen, it's true that a decent excuse for a night out that features someone else slaving over the hot stove is always welcome. It was also a Sunday this year, which seemed to present at least some possibility that West End restaurants and bars wouldn't be crammed to the rafters with credulous mugs paying through the nose. Plus we were celebrating the start of a new era and the rather rash purchase of a fancy car. Dinner out was definitely called for.

First, though, a cheeky cocktail at Hix Soho, which is danger of becoming a serious contender for favourite central London bar. With its pressed tin ceiling, quirkily low bar and subtle lighting, it would be a pleasing spot even without the bar billiards table. But there's more...

My paternal grandparents spent the 1960s managing The Squadron, an old-school seaside hotel in Ryde. By the time I started spending holidays on the Isle of Wight they had retired (the hotel has fallen a long way from grace these days) and moved to Seaview. All that remained of the Squadron years, setting aside for a minute the small matter of my parents' courtship, was an eclectic collection of glasses than bordered on the heroic. There were coloured glasses from drinks brands I seriously doubt ever actually existed, coupes and flutes of every conceivable geometry and more delicate umbrellas and adornments than you could swizzle a stick at. It was an Aladdin's Cave of kitsch, and one of the joys of my childhood. And I think I've just worked out where that crazy glass collection has ended up...

At Hix, although they do have traditional martini glasses somewhere in their collection, you're as likely to have your chilled spirit served in a sherry schooner or a port glass. (While we were there an actual Babycham coupe was sent out containing something far more grown up than the little bambi might have suggested.) Surprisingly, perhaps, and despite the unchilled glasses, the drinks are none the worse for this presentation, showing the value of a well-trained and confident mixologist. My schooner of Plymouth with its comical, and possibly record-breaking, twist of lemon may not have looked much like a traditional martini but it delivered on far more levels than any number of visually correct efforts I've been served elsewhere in the capital.

All too soon, it was off through the rain to Dean Street Townhouse for the main event. Beautiful room, lovely staff, busy but not crammed. All it needed was some halfway decent food and the evening could be considered a success. It was not to disappoint.

The menu is great: lots of vogue classics, a focus on seasonality, a veritable study in making a virtue out of old fashioned simple dishes - the signature dish is mince and boiled potatoes - served up with confidence in glam surroundings. To get away with this sort of thing the execution has to be spot on, and it's hard to judge that on a single visit. But when that visit is on one of the busiest and most high pressure nights of the year it seems a fair test and it's one that the Townhouse passed with flying colours.

A warm salad of rabbit, black pudding and scotch quails eggs was beautifully balanced, the richness of the meaty elements cut through by a sharp dressing and some quills of bitter chicory. Lovely. Antonia (choosing from the unadvertised vegetarian menu) started with a caramelised onion tart topped with a perfectly poached egg. Simple but effective, and praised far more highly than is usually the case for such a regular vegetarian fall-back option. This was followed by a main course macaroni cheese (which looked fab) and a lemon sole meuniere for me, which was (and I know I'm stealing from Masterchef here but sometimes there's no other way)... Cooked. To. Perfection. The only gripe was the pathetic bowl of buttered greens: barely more than a spoonful and yours for a cool £3.75. A bit naughty that.

We skipped pudding, feeling the remainder of our evening would be better spent walking over to Covent Garden and having a final snifter at Rules, still the holder of the favourite bar title. And we were right. More quirky glasses (this time, one feels, a bit more studied), more excellent mixing, and the third sumptuous room of the night. In fact if there are three better rooms in London than these three then I want to know about them.

A fine evening.

Hix Soho, 66 Brewer Street London W1F 9TR 020 7292 3518
Dean Street Townhouse, 69 Dean Street London W1D 4QJ 020 7434 1775
Rules, 35 Maiden Lane, London WC2E 7LB 020 7836 5314