An Old Favourite...

My soft spot for Roast was born the same time I discovered Borough Market (for those who don't know, it sits directly above it). Back then I couldn't imagine anything more brilliant than being one of those diners, knife and fork in hand, looking down at piles of over priced artichokes and people queuing for venison hot dogs. For me it was too posh to comprehend and priced unattainably high but I told myself, "One day Lucy, you'll mount those winding stairs and eat with the Gods!"

My stance has, of course, changed somewhat. Through my haggardly cynical lids, I see a restaurant with ugly pillars and bad 90s chairs, which takes itself too seriously for a non-stared Brasserie, and never quite fills it's own loftily spaced boots. I've had meals which were too fussy, some not fussy enough, and food that fails to out way the final cost. Yet I love it.

Sitting at the bar Monday night, stomach satisfyingly fall, glass of wine in hand and a pretty singer with a husky voice belting the blues in the background, I thought of me circa 2005 (the uni years, when my gay husband and I used to sit in the Soho Starbucks, convinced we were the height of sophistication). That 18 year old girl, who used to squeal every time she saw Big Ben, stared at people on the tube and longed to eat in a London restaurant where people tucked in your chair, would have been very impressed...

My scotch egg to start was good, still warm with a layer of well-seasoned pork framing a pleasingly orange yolk. Even better was the baked Dorset crab, bound together with cheese (we laughed in the face of calories and smeared the fishy paste on thickly buttered bread).

Not content that our arteries were sufficiently clogged, we ordered rare, meaty mains of mutton and rib eye. My nicely charred chop was juicy and fat laden, with sweet, ruby meat which I greedily nibbled to the bone (and then sucked). The steak drew nods of approval (I was too focused on my sheep to ask for a try) but soggy chips were ignored. Sides of heritage carrots and brussel tops with chorizo were agreeably crunchy, but so drenched in the yellow stuff, I was beginning to regret my laissez-faire attitude to health. In view of this we decided to opt out of dessert.



















As owner, Iqbal Wahhab says on the website, when he opened Roast five years ago, British food was far from a bankable business plan. So there is a lot to be said for its continued success, particularly when you think of the stunning examples in the capital today (Dinner at Heston's anyone?). I'm not even going to pretend that Roast hits the heights of Dinner, or that it is serving cuisine any better than the endless gastro-boozers putting out almost identical menus. If you want traditional English fare in cosy surroundings then Roast is not the place for you. Nor is it, despite the fawning service and coat check policy, refined enough to charge the prices it does.

Annoying, if I was to follow my above advice, I wouldn't eat at Roast. It is overpriced, it's stuffy and, at times, the cavernous space distils any atmosphere which might offset this. But I have eaten there, many times, and those meals are up there with some of my favourite restaurant experiences. The location helps, as does the jazz bar feel of its bar but mostly there this unexplainable charm that comes from the staff who just want to please, and an interior so impressively huge, it demands you to like it. Here is a place that might get it wrong from time to time, but is endearingly earnest enough to be forgiven. Not unlike the green, 18 year old girl who so wanted to get through its doors...  

The Floral Hall
Stoney Street
SE1 1TL

Pizarro Pizazz...

Now I'm not what you'd call a forward thinker. Once at university I was told that I'm so far inside the box, I might as well live in it. This goes hand in hand with my ability to pick up a trend once everyone else stops wearing it and getting to restaurants long after the buzz has worn off.

Which is why I’m quite beside myself with smugness that I am, for once, if not ahead of the pack, then at least with it. Pizarro (the newest restaurant from José Pizarro of José and Brindisa fame) has been open for two weeks, and I’d been twice in the first four days. Once on launch night. To an actual trendy restaurant with hype.

Now I'm going to take most of the credit for being cool but it has to be said, that José sure can put together a plate of food. The food is closely followed by a rockin' interior (and by rockin' I mean marvellous marriage of wood, brick and tiles) and hum of good times being had by all. Service was great on both occasions, though admittedly it helps when those waiting on you possess equal measures of good looks and easy charm.

We had to wait (around an hour and a half both times) but as the atmosphere is so like his other tapas joints, the standing around felt more pleasure than chore. It does mean you're likely to sink a bottle of cava before you eat anything however (well I did on both occasions anyhow).

So to the eating. Not everything was perfect but soft launch with 50% off food and booze effectively forgave this. Plus it was opening night and the place was rammed...

Quail

I've only ever had over-cooked quail so the fact I could swallow without water was an excellent start. The sauce was really good, full of flavour (though could have done with a punch of chilli).

Artichoke

I bloody love artichoke so there was little chance of me hating this dish and it ended up being my second favourite of the night. The tastes going off in my mouth (toasted cumin, soft artichoke, sharp but creamy cheese) made me very happy indeed.

Squid

Bar calamari (deep frying anything in batter makes it good) squid is another of those foods that often gets over-zealously cooked. This was exceptional in that regard. My fussy friend and fellow blogger Eyes Bigger Than My Stomach confirmed this was cooked to perfection and “not bad at all.”

Lamb

The lamb looked a touch past pink and, as a result, was a little chewy. However it was the lambiest lamb ever, each chomp releasing more flavour.

Partridge

Only dud of the night. Served in a ceramic shallow dish, the dry bird sat on some watery beans in an under seasoned stock. Less roasting of the bird and more reducing of the jus and this could be impressive.

Pork

My mouth has been filling with saliva at random intervals at the memory of these rare strips of super pig. Keep describing it to friends as the sexiest tasting bacon I have ever been lucky enough to put in my mouth.

Chocolate Toast

Wasn't sure about this one at first, but ended up ordering this simple, but blindingly clever dessert on both visits. Combining a bit of the 'toast', butterscotch ice cream and nutella-like sauce felt like childhood.

Rice pudding

Cinammon-laced, creamy rice great. Sharp clementine too bitter.

By the time we ordered on Thursday, the Croquetas were sold out. To my delight, they were back on Sunday and soothing in a way that only ham and cheese based bites can be. We also tried the sweet potato starter with chunks of blue cheese (safe but nice combo), the hake with black cabbage which was a touch bland (silly as the stock, cabbage and potatoes on which it sat sang with salty flavour) and an extremely good vanilla ice cream, draped in booze laden grapes.

I've met José a couple of times and he's probably one of the nicest chefs in the business. This is evident at Pizarro which oozes comfort, warmth and a total lack of pretention (much like his brilliant croquetas). There are many restaurants that buzz, there are many restaurants with cool, but there are very few that personify the loveable charm of their creator so effectively.  

194 Bermondsey Street
London
SE1 3TQ

Nic Picking

Department store eateries are not usually my thing. Regardless of the establishment, they just remind me of eating dry fish fingers aged six in the BHS cafe with me mam. But an invite to breakfast is an invite to breakfast. And where better to overcome a fear of plastic tables and ladies in hair nets, than at Harvey Nics?

She's only gone and had a make over, her first in 20 years. A lovely lick of lemon and a smattering of smoked wood's made the old girl good as new (well, new in a retro-looking way). Being my maiden voyage to the fifth floor, I had no point of comparison but the light-filled room sailed past my expectations.

Service was impressive too, particularly our slightly camp waiter (I warmed to his show smile and expressive hand movements), as was the roof top smoking area (do love a fag with a view).

We kicked off with beverages. I was slightly disappointed the pot o' tea was from a bag but, being a PG Tips girl at heart, got over it pretty quickly. What I couldn't get over was the apple, carrot and ginger juice (it had a name, something to do with glamour) which was sweet but not cloyingly so and packed a gingery punch. Usually I rely on caffine to jolt me into the day, but this juice launched me into the rest of the week.

I enjoyed my prettily arranged fried egg on a mound of sauced up chorizo, despite the fact the too tart tomato sauce overpowered the taste of sausage and rendered the sour dough soggy. Eggs and chorizo makes for a pleasing morning mouthful, but I prefer the baked version with crunchy toasted sour dough on the side for dipping (Caravan in Exmouth Market does this horrendously well). My companion liked his Eggs Benedict, but questioned the twist of replacing the english muffin with a slice brioche (I don't care for hollandaise so I really couldn't comment).

The Fifth Floor Cafe at Harvey Nics is most certainly one up on your usual department store offerings (unless your locals are Harrods and Selfridges). But for me, despite its floor-to-ceiling windows, jazzy waiters and clout delivering juices, it still had a whiff of BHS about it. I can confirm from the website that it's tables are made from wood, but my memory refuses to see anything but formica...

Fifth Floor Cafe and Terrace

Harvey Nichols

109-125 Knightsbridge

SW1X 7RJ

Tap It Up

Carom was a pop up at Meza but due to its success (the concept is ‘casual plates for sharing’) it is now a permanent fixture in the Wardour Street bar-cum-restaurant-cum-nightclub, which includes Meza and Floridita. I’ve never been one for Floridita, mostly because salsa is my idea of hell, but the idea of Indian tapas (my words not theirs) is an appealing one.

As we were seated in a private booth (great for first date snogging) and began to peruse the menu, the rather jolly restaurant manager Pradeep filled us with fun food facts. Booths aside I was apathetic to the interior. As you enter the building there’s a brothel-like lipstick red lounge area to your left, Carom is tucked at the other end of the curving bar by the toilets. Touches of ‘India’ – a few ornate brass lamps, an embroidered strip of fabric on the tables – feel a bit transitory. But interior smeria, as long as the food’s good (which it was) you could seat me in a padded cell and I wouldn’t complain. One thing I didn’t like was the fussy service. To be fair to the staff it was a slow Monday night and I am used to pubs where you have to order at the bar, but door opening and constant water filling just makes me feel uncomfortable.

What makes me feel very comfortable however is cocktail hour, so the arrival of something alcoholic and mango flavoured filled me with cheer (as did the tiny poppadoms with pineapple, berry and tomato chutneys). The ordering of the food was taken out of our hands by the lovely Pradeep who, God bless him, sent almost every dish on the menu. He also recommended a very good Argentinian white (Torrontes, Tilia, Mendoza, Argentina 2010). As I’m a wine spaz I won’t attempt to describe it, but it did go right nice with the spice.

Everything we had to start was good: plump and kicky tiger prawns ‘Dakshin’ and spice encrusted lamb cutlets which covered all the t’s (tasty, tender and tremendous). I loved the puffed rice salad or ‘Bhelpuri’ (a street food snack, served all over India) which looked and tasted a bit like an upmarket Bombay mix and added some welcome texture. The Anglo-Indian fish cakes came with a neat story, apparently in the time of the Indian Empire us philistine English used to get the Indian chefs to cook fish and chips. Once we’d had our fill of home grub, the chefs would take home the leftovers, mix it with spice and make these fishcakes. Well industrias they were.

Mains were as good if not better. Silky salmon ‘hariyali’ (a mint and coriander based marinade) fell apart at the merest poke of a fork and goan beef was thick with heat hinting spice. Sides of bread and rice were exemplary, particularly the South Indian flaky bread (somewhere between roti and naan with added elastic). But best were a coconut-creamed sea bass curry, marrying punchy ginger with syrupy mango and a black lentil dahl which quietly surpassed everything else on the menu.

Ignoring our protests, Pradeep insisted on sending a plate of fruit (is it just me or is dragon fruit pretty but tasteless?) and saffron infused custard to go with our fresh mint teas, which was a pleasingly light end to a rather big meal.

Soho is notoriously full of brilliant restaurants which cater to every whim. You want small plate buzz? Go to Spuntino or Polpo. Great noodles? Koya. Beruit street food? Yalla Yalla. The list goes on and on. And now, if you want a good plate of Indian tapas, a cocktail and a smiley, story-spouting restaurant manager, you have Carom.

100 Wardour Street

W1F 0TN

An Eye For Pie

I do love a weekend in the country, particularly when there's a country pub involved. Sensing some serious eating ahead, I did the goody two shoes bit and ran the four mile perimeter of nearby Daventry Country Park first (if you ask me, exercise should only ever be used to engage appetite). Which meant, by the time we arrived at The Olde Coach House in Ashby Saint Ledgers, I was starving and in the market for something hearty. And by something hearty I mean a big fat pie...

OCH's 'proper' Steak and Ale Pie

A quick scan of the menu and my greedy eyes found what they were looking for. I was especially excited by the inclusion of the word 'proper' (nothing like a cocky adjective to instil faith in one's cooking). Some time and a nice glass of house white later, the glossy mound of potato, pastry and protein arrived. I dived into the slab of buttery shortcrust pastry, meaty gravy and thick threads of silky beef with gusto. Piled on a cloud of creamy mash and dotted with crunchy veg, this comforting plate of food was everything I adore about well made, pub grub. Just glorious.

Duo of Pork

Never able to resist anything pig-based, my boyfriend went for the Duo of Pork, a ubiquitous slab of pork belly and 'home made' faggot. Whilst he focused on the abdomen, I honed in on the sexy ball of offal. (Mmmmmm, porky dirty goodness). He found the meat a little chewy but positively raved about the celeriac rosti and roasted beetroot (an evil glutton stole his faggot and enjoyed it immensely).

Bf's dad had the Cod and Chips which looked suitably crisp and received positive grunts of approval and Bf's mum (being a knowing soul) joined me in a plate of pie.

We bravely took the proffered dessert menus but were defeated in the face of fullness. But as I've been day dreaming about the lost Vanilla Poached Pear Compote and Gingersnap Tart ever since, I'll be running an extra mile next time...

The Olde Coach House

Main Street

Ashby St.Ledgers

Rugby

Warwickshire

CV23 8UN

What a Tart...

I quite liked my boyfriend anyway and then he made me this...

A crisp, buttery base and the apples, my god the apples. Sweet, chewy and perfectly caramelised, these cox's were treated right nice and served with a dollop of Waitrose's Extra Thick Jersey Cream. Pure Sunday afternoon food heaven (I ate a third, obvs.)

A Curry in Surrey...

Walking up hilly, dark country lanes is not my usual path to curry, generally that involves calling my local, Indelicious (brilliant name, equally brilliant Chicken Dhansak) or jumping on the ELL to Whitechapel and the legend that is Tayyabs (mmmm... lamb chops). But a generous offer, particularly one that involves paneer, must be met with gumption and thus we hopped (cycled), skipped (train) and jumped (walked) our way to India Dining in Warlingham, Surrey.

The restaurant looked like a high-end Indian (lots of leather and up lights) and the menu read like one too (Venison, Guinea Fowl, Soft Shell Crab). Service was attentive, the 'Indian Mojito' cocktails mintily delicious and the food... well there was lots of it. We sampled crisp spiced crab, sweet stuffed paneer, melting lamb shanks, creamy scallops, fiery aubergine and reassuring potato-stuffed paratha. As we ate and drank on their hospitality, I shall not even feign objectivity (free food = good). I will say that, once the war with transport was won, we enjoyed our jaunt to the country immensely.

India Dining

6 The Green

Warlingham

Surrey

CR6 9NA

01883 625 905

With a Little Coaching...

Things were not looking good for the Coach & Horses, a tucked away pub in the back streets of Clerkenwell. The exterior is careworn at best, the wood-panelled interior nice but lacking shine, a lone cider on tap (Strongbow) and not a soul in the place.

Things began to improve once the autumn dark drew in, the place began to fill with a cosy hum and we were settled with the menu. Suddenly I was signalling for the waitress with the determination of a person about to over order.

Crayfish

Shockingly, I've only ever eaten crayfish in the form of a Pret salad, so this was my first time cracking the scarlett beauties apart and sucking out the insides. Blimey. Fresh, sweet meat dunked in tartare sauce did a little song in my mouth.

Cockles Marinara

Again, an eye opener (previous experience of cockles being the cold ones you get at the seaside, of which I am no fan). Replacing mussels in the most classic of soup/shellfish marriages, worked like a charm. The intensely fishy broth silky with cream, the frilled shells infinitely prettier than their dark cousins of the sea.

Alioli whipped the just okay chips into shape with a tangy slap of garlic. Whhhhoooooopppa.

Grey Mullet with Chickpeas, Heritage Tomatoes and Razor Clams - 'looked and tasted fine, but I'm still hungry' (from my father, who doesn't really understand fish unless its battered, deep fried and served in gargantuan portions).

At around £6 for a starter and £12 for a main, the prices are roughly London pub average and, for the quality of the food, this is good value (particularly the weekday set lunch menu). However, with the bar for eating in Clerkenwell set so high (St John, Caravan, Moro, Morito, The Modern Pantry to name a few...), C&H's taps need a bit of polish. That said, the temperature is dropping by the hour, our minds are turning to warming grub in snug pubs and, in a new winter coat, the Coach & Horses could be just the place to spend a frosty afternoon...

Coach & Horses

26-28 Ray Street

EC1R 3DJ

Hat's Off...

Not being the type of girl who turns down a boozy invitation, I was more than happy to attend a mexican food and cocktail making workshop at Benito's Hat on Wednesday evening.

After a quick demos from Head Chef, Felipe and owner, Ben. It was our turn to attempt perfect tortillas, stonkingly hot salsa, and to whip up our own take on BH's watermelon martini.

Like thirsty moths to an alcohol dispensing flame we raced for the cocktail station, and started adding spirits with worrying abandon. Then applied the same kitchen sink method to our salsa and tortillas with mixed results (Felipe deemed our too thick tortillas inedible but our concoction of mango juice, mint and tequila got the thumbs up from Ben).

Sadly we had to leave before the sampling of the menu but after the way Ben talked about his menu of authentic, fresh burritos, tacos, soups and salads, I have mentally promised myself a taster in the very near future. Until then, anyone for a mango martini?

Benito's Hat

12 Great Castle Street

W1W 8LR

Eggcellent

I quite liked my boyfriend anyway and then he made these...

Romance is not dead in our house, let me tell you.

Havin' A Ball

My friend once told me about an episode of The Simpsons where Homer orders steak with meatballs as a drink. Even though I haven't seen it, I smile every time I think about it.

Meatballs are brilliant. They are like burgers, but they come in sauce which (unless done poorly) helps them to stay good and juicy. I don't know anyone who doesn't love them, nor do I want to. Which is why opening a restaurant centred around balls of meat is a cracking idea.

A cracking idea, that is, until you remember that they are actually hard to get right. And, if you don't, everyone will notice. Meatball's meatballs are not perfect but I'm not sure it matters. The menu is short and enticing, offering a choice of five meatballs (beef and ricotta, greek lamb, pork and rosemary, chicken, vegetarian courgette) with a selection of delightful sides or 'underneaths' including fluffy mash, honey and thyme roasted carrots and egg pappardelle.

We went as a group of six which turned out to be a perfect number for piling into the booths (I do love a booth) and ordering pretty much everything on the menu. The decor is great: polished wood, elegant leather, and a charming assortment of light fittings (I do love a light fitting). The atmosphere was a little timid for my Friday night taste but here we should note two things: one, I have a big mouth and like going places that drown out my noise and two, they have not been open long so a little time should take care of this.

Most of all though, it was just fun. Fun in the way that tapas with a table of people is fun. Lots of "Oooooh try this one," and "Stop hogging the pork balls!" It is the perfect place to go with a group and be guaranteed there is something on the menu for everyone. Because the menu is meatballs and everyone, particularly Homer Simpson, loves a meatball...

Meatballs at the Quality Chop House

92-94 Farringdon Road

EC1R 3EA

Cross It Off

Saturday mornings mean Saturday kitchen and breakfast in bed, which is why I have missed out on the delights of North Cross Road Market until now. Thank god for circumstance (and a freelance article) which got me out of bed at 8am and daaan the market by 9.

I was there to hang out with Cooper aka The Dogfather who was a pleasure and a joy. What a lovely man and, more importantly, what ridiculously delicious hot dogs. I grilled him whilst he grilled and watched in awe as he created corkers like 'The Mexican Elvis' (Beef Steak n' Pinto Bean Sauce, Jalapenos, Cheddar, Grilled Onions, Hot Cheese Sauce and a 100% beef dog) to a queue of adoring fans.

Once Cooper got busy, I got busy with the rest of the market...

Gourmet Lunch Boxes (mmmm... saffron chicken), The Viet-Van (mmmm... Vietnamese baguettes), Comfort and Joy (mmmm... wraps), as well as huge wodges of sexy cheese, wickedly plump tomatoes and indecently glossy tarts. If I hadn't already eaten a mammouth hot dog, I would have been in serious trouble.

Get ye down to East Dulwich. I like it so much, I'm moving there.

(I would not lie for journalistic effect.)

North Cross Road Market

East Dulwich

SE22 9EV

Monday to Saturday