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.)