Reviews


A Quick Bite in Chelsea

Image credit: Hugo Louis George Taylor: Copyright of industrymusicgroup.co.uk)

What could be more pleasant that an afternoon’s Sloane spotting in Pimlico over a plate of fresh mackerel?

“Ya, I’m like totally over committed… so I can’t take on anything else right now,” explains a long limbed carefully shaven gent in his early twenties to a lady friend.
Reclining club-class style in his chair, dressed in tennis gear and clutching a glass of rose at The Orange on Pimlico Road he does look stretched, admittedly.
When having lunch in Sloane-ville, I find the food tends to play second fiddle to the entertainment. And last Friday I was lucky enough to spot a Made In Chelsea style gent on my way out the door after another brilliant meal at this utterly reliable gastropub. Continue reading »

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Imperial Schizophrenia

New York Magazine

A true collision of sweet and sour dining style

very grizzled fine-dining veteran knows that your enjoyment of dinner can be directly affected by where you’re seated in a restaurant. But I’ve never encountered two rooms as jarringly different as the ones on display at Sam Talbot’s new seafood restaurant, Imperial No. Nine, which opened several weeks ago off the lobby of the Mondrian Soho hotel. The main dining room, where I was seated one grim evening, is a windowless lounge-lizard Siberia. There, the house music is annoyingly loud, and the glowing imitation Louis Quatorze furniture looks like it’s been lifted from the VIP lounge of an after-hours club in suburban L.A. The garden room, by contrast, is an airy space enclosed in glass, like a giant greenhouse, and decorated with flowerpots and handblown chandeliers. On a clear evening, you can look up and see the stars twinkling dimly over downtown Manhattan.

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Atherton no longer A-mazeing

Image credit: Pollen Street Social

With a Royal Wedding in the air, the stench of unemployment wafting through the bunting and a London trend for overpriced, small plates of food, 2011 is starting to smell a little like 1981. So said @richmajor slightly euphorically about the state of things, as we enjoyed our first meal at Pollen Street Social.

Perhaps he was hallucinating in the Athens-like heat. Head chef Jason Atherton, formally of Ramsay’s maze, had managed to find the only golden statue of a leg of lamb in London, displayed proudly in the window. The effort would have been better spent securing the services of an electrician to fix the air-conditioning. But, I tried to stay positive as my legs glued themselves to the black leather, Manhattan-style banquette at which we were sat. Continue reading »

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Talking Sichuan Tripe

Image credit: Kake Pugh

Watching @silentypewriter and @richmajor at Wuli Wuli in Camberwell last night shoveling down shredded pigs’ ears and duck tongues, I reflected on my lack of stomach for the Sichuan extremities being piled up before us.

My first Chinese meal was with a girl from the top of my road, when I was 13. One Saturday she took me to a local takeaway and ordered a dish I didn’t recognise with the speed and efficiency of a highly professional bikini waxer. Continue reading »

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Not Afraid to be Hungry

Cheese and Biscuits

Painfully ugly, stab capital of Britain beginning to attract courageous foodies.

I hesitate to use the word "ugly" to describe a section of the city that many thousands of people live in and may very well be quite fond of, but my God, Camberwell is not a pretty place. Permanently traffic-clogged and noisy, hemmed in by a number of high-rise tower blocks and those peculiar brutalist Clockwork Orange-style housing estates that seem custom-designed to provide numerous untraceable escape routes for muggers and thieves (at least, in my mind they do), it is the kind of place that doesn't invite you to hang around.

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Taking Subway Down

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Top critic tries and fails to find something nice to say about Subway

I would like to think I'm not a food snob: in my job as a restaurant reviewer I've visited Heston Blumenthal and Pizza Hut and found points to favour and to criticise in both. But I've avoided Subway until now. I'd thought it was a sandwich bar, and a sandwich is a sandwich, right? Wrong. My visit yesterday revealed that these are no sandwiches, that Subway's slogan "Eat fresh" is scandalously misleading, and that it may be fast, but it certainly ain't cheap.

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Let Loving Tentacles Embrace You In Genoa

Gin and Crumpets

Genova isn’t a conventional choice for a minibreak. A grubby port city whose glory days slipped past sometime in the 14th century, Genova funnels squeaky-suited business travellers and cruise ship escapees through its narrow alleyways, but rarely hosts holiday-makers who simply can’t leave Italy without seeing the home of pesto.

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Whitechapel Gallery Dining Room

the grumbling gourmet

Art for food’s sake… perfect

As a concept, museum or gallery cafes are often better than they are in actuality. For every South London Gallery Cafe, serving reasonably priced and freshly prepared quality options, there's two or three like the National Gallery Cafe or the British Museum Court Restaurant; overpriced, predatory canteens sucking desperate funds from their patrons, the visual arts version of the over priced popcorn you get at the cinema.
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Soho (Hong Kong) Loses Its Charms

tomeatsjencooks
Demonstrating that Soho can and will let you down in every city
I should theoretically really like Commune Lab as it nearly does a lot of things right but I somehow left it feeling poor, hungry and vowing to avoid Soho for a while. To look on the positive side: Uno, it’s set in working kitchen which during the day makes bread for various kitchens around Hong Kong (including Lily & Bloom and Shore etc.) so your setting is, excitingly, the industrial background of kitchen production. Due, it is intended as a “test kitchen” where the Posto Publico’s chef – AJ Bellarosa – gets to try out new things and experiment with sous vide machines
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Rather Rustic Romance

Fay Maschler, Evening Standard
The slogan: ‘Down In One Dining’ might attract the tourists…
“Faire chabrot” refers to pouring red wine into an almost finished bowl of soup, lifting it to the lips and enthusiastically draining the contents to the last drop. It is a tradition associated with south-west France and in this new Knightsbridge restaurant there is a picture of a moustachioed, horny-handed French peasant, large bottle tucked under his arm, full glass at the ready, loaf of crusty bread at his elbow, contentedly demonstrating the technique.
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