Mr Oil and Mr Vinegar have been to Kensington, or perhaps more accurately Notting Hill, to see if anything has changed at one of London’s most long-established fine restaurants, Clarke’s.
MrO: It is extraordinary how Sally Clarke maintains the standards she does. All around her, supposedly great restaurants have come and gone but she never seems to wobble.
MrV: That’s probably because she’s still quite slim.
MrO: Very droll, I’m sure. I wondered what would happen when she chucked out the no-choice menu a couple of years ago.
MrV: I assumed the quality would drop or the prices go up, or most likely both. It must have been hard on them going from producing four dishes a day to a dozen. They’d had it easy for so many years. Perhaps that’s why she resisted the change, initially.
MrO: I hardly think you could call it ‘easy’ maintaining a reputation as one of London’s best restaurants, no matter how many dishes you offer. The Tatler gave Clarke’s an award a while ago for being the most consistently excellent in London.
MrV: Of course! I should have known you were a Tatler reader. I daresay it helps keep you in touch with your feminine side.
MrO: What did you think of the food?
MrV: Well, I have to concede straight away that the ingredients are still as fresh as ever and of an extremely high quality. The stilton bread was extraordinarily good. The squid and pea risotto with thyme and purple cress was about the freshest thing I’ve ever eaten which didn’t still have earth stuck to it.
MrO: I know. The gnocchi with spinach and Taleggio cheese sauce was also full of lovely fresh flavours. She must have incredible confidence in herself. This is the only restaurant I know where the daily specials are more expensive than the rest of the menu.
MrV: But I have a serious complaint. What is the thing you never do with fresh, high-quality ingredients?
MrO: Muck about with them.
MrV: Exactly. So what the devil is Sally Clarke doing smothering some really first class, grass-fed Angus rib eye with a gravy so sticky and salty that it overwhelmes the flavour of the beef? It tasted like a Knorr cube.
MrO: That was a puzzle. You ended up leaving a fair bit of the beef, didn’t you?
MrV: I did. Which was disappointing. You seemed to relish your roast duck all right.
MrO: Yes, it was delicious and perfectly cooked. The gravy was slightly heavier than I’d like but duck can take that sort of treatment where the best cuts of beef cannot. What do you suppose went wrong?
MrV: I’ll bet she wasn’t there that night. Or she’s getting dementia. Or she just decided to be damnably irritating. You know what women can be like...
MrO: Well she didn’t let me down with the pudding.
MrV: It was just a plate of Eton Mess. Strawberries, cream and meringue.
MrO: It was so much more than that. The addition of spring rhubarb brought out the flavour of the strawberries quite astonishingly and gave it some real tang to counter the sweetness. And the meringues were slightly gooey to make the dish linger. If that was Eton Mess then it’s the finest I’ve had. I’m going to try it at home.
MrV: I have no complaints about the wine. That Leoville Poyferre 1999 was excellent, although it took a while to open up. Just as well the wine waiter decanted it or it wouldn’t have opened up until it was out the other end of me, which would have been rather a waste of £130. We were very restrained only having one bottle, weren’t we?
MrO: You appear to have forgotten that you were sucking it down across the road in the Kensington Wine Rooms for an hour before we went into Clarke’s.
Mr Oil and Mr Vinegar had two first courses, two main courses one pudding and a bottle of fine wine at a total cost of about £220.
Clarke’s
122 & 124 Kensington Church Street,
London W8 4BH
+44 (0) 207 221 9225
www.sallyclarke.com
restaurant@sallyclarke.com
To contact Mr Oil and Mr Vinegar please email us at mroilandmrvinegar@gmail.com
Friday, April 16, 2010
Monday, March 29, 2010
The Original Lahore Restaurant, Hendon, North London
Mr Oil and Mr Vinegar have been to the far northern tracts known as Hendon, to eat genuine Pakistani food at the Original Lahore Restaurant. They find that the cooking here is, if possible, even better than at its famous sister restaurant in Whitechapel, the Lahore Kebab House.
MrV: That chap AA Gill once went all the way to Pakistan to review Pakistani food. It was just after the World Trade Centre was smashed to bits. Spent three days on a bus and then ate out of a lavatory in the mountains -- something like that. I expect he thought it was a clever thing to do but it would have been much cleverer to go to Hendon. How long did it take our driver to get us there?
MrO: About half an hour from Mayfair. Probably less time than it takes to get to the East End branch of the Lahore.
MrV: I think getting public transport would be a nightmare. It's at least a mile from the nearest tube station. And having a driver take you - a cab if you must - means it's easy to bring good booze rather than relying on the selection in that part of Hendon, which is not what you'd call a wine connoisseurs' paradise.
MrO: It's quite a treat going to a restaurant where you bring your own wine. It cuts such a vast amount off the cost of the exercise. And by the way, there is a supermarket round the corner which sells perfectly decent wine.
MrV: Perhaps, but not the sort of really special spicey Chiantis one wants with this type and quality of food. Still, I suppose most of the diners who use the place are local and don't know any better.
MrO: I wouldn't be so sure. People come from far and wide because of the rave reviews its had. It is quite widely regarded as the best Pakistanic restaurant in London. I agree and so obviously to lots of others. On a Saturday night the queue waiting to get in is huge.
MrV: How awful. I will never attend a restaurant where I can't book, and I won't stay if the time of the booking isn't honoured. That's why I think lunchtime is the time to go.
MrO: What about the food? I don't think I can fault it. The seekh kebab is the best I've had, beautifully spiced ground lamb pressed onto a kebab stick. It's quite sensational. And I loved those tandoori prawns. They were extraordinarily rich and succulent.
MrV: I also was very impressed by the vegetable samosa but my personal favourite is the grilled lamb chop. They smash the chops until they are almost flat, pounding the spices and so forth into the meat in the process. I think it is the richest, most delicious Asian lamb dish I've ever tasted.
MrO: The sag gosht and chicken biriyani main courses were fabulous as well.
MrV: Yes, they tasted very good and no doubt were spectacular compared to other restaurants' offerings but I come back to a point I've made before: across all Asian cooking, the starters are almost invariably better than the main courses. When I've had the delicious chops and the kebabs and the prawns, to be confronted with a big plate of lamb and spinach curry just puts me off.
MrO: I loved them and didn't feel at all overwhelmed. I must say that for a man of your physique to feel intimidated by a plate of curry and that excellent tandoori roti rather stretches the credulity. Why did you order them if you didn't want them?
MrV: I don't know. Force of habit, I suppose. The classical French construction of a meal - starter, mains, pudding - dominates our attitudes and it's very hard to shake off. I don't think Asians feast like that, given the choice. I think they have lots of little bits of everything. Next time, I'm just going to have a big selection of starters. I really am.
MrO: What about the pistachio and mango kulfi lollies for pudding?
MrV: An honourable exception to my new rule.
Mr Oil and Mr Vinegar ate papadoms, vegetable samosas, seekh kebabs, grilled lamb chops, tandoori prawns, sag gosht (lamb and spinach curry), chicken biriyani, tandoori roti and a kulfi lolly each plus mineral water at a total cost of about £60, not including the wine they brought with them.
Original Lahore Restaurant
148-150 Brent Street
Hendon
London NW4 2DR
+44 (0)208 203 6904
hendon@originallahore.com
www.originallahore.com
MrV: That chap AA Gill once went all the way to Pakistan to review Pakistani food. It was just after the World Trade Centre was smashed to bits. Spent three days on a bus and then ate out of a lavatory in the mountains -- something like that. I expect he thought it was a clever thing to do but it would have been much cleverer to go to Hendon. How long did it take our driver to get us there?
MrO: About half an hour from Mayfair. Probably less time than it takes to get to the East End branch of the Lahore.
MrV: I think getting public transport would be a nightmare. It's at least a mile from the nearest tube station. And having a driver take you - a cab if you must - means it's easy to bring good booze rather than relying on the selection in that part of Hendon, which is not what you'd call a wine connoisseurs' paradise.
MrO: It's quite a treat going to a restaurant where you bring your own wine. It cuts such a vast amount off the cost of the exercise. And by the way, there is a supermarket round the corner which sells perfectly decent wine.
MrV: Perhaps, but not the sort of really special spicey Chiantis one wants with this type and quality of food. Still, I suppose most of the diners who use the place are local and don't know any better.
MrO: I wouldn't be so sure. People come from far and wide because of the rave reviews its had. It is quite widely regarded as the best Pakistanic restaurant in London. I agree and so obviously to lots of others. On a Saturday night the queue waiting to get in is huge.
MrV: How awful. I will never attend a restaurant where I can't book, and I won't stay if the time of the booking isn't honoured. That's why I think lunchtime is the time to go.
MrO: What about the food? I don't think I can fault it. The seekh kebab is the best I've had, beautifully spiced ground lamb pressed onto a kebab stick. It's quite sensational. And I loved those tandoori prawns. They were extraordinarily rich and succulent.
MrV: I also was very impressed by the vegetable samosa but my personal favourite is the grilled lamb chop. They smash the chops until they are almost flat, pounding the spices and so forth into the meat in the process. I think it is the richest, most delicious Asian lamb dish I've ever tasted.
MrO: The sag gosht and chicken biriyani main courses were fabulous as well.
MrV: Yes, they tasted very good and no doubt were spectacular compared to other restaurants' offerings but I come back to a point I've made before: across all Asian cooking, the starters are almost invariably better than the main courses. When I've had the delicious chops and the kebabs and the prawns, to be confronted with a big plate of lamb and spinach curry just puts me off.
MrO: I loved them and didn't feel at all overwhelmed. I must say that for a man of your physique to feel intimidated by a plate of curry and that excellent tandoori roti rather stretches the credulity. Why did you order them if you didn't want them?
MrV: I don't know. Force of habit, I suppose. The classical French construction of a meal - starter, mains, pudding - dominates our attitudes and it's very hard to shake off. I don't think Asians feast like that, given the choice. I think they have lots of little bits of everything. Next time, I'm just going to have a big selection of starters. I really am.
MrO: What about the pistachio and mango kulfi lollies for pudding?
MrV: An honourable exception to my new rule.
Mr Oil and Mr Vinegar ate papadoms, vegetable samosas, seekh kebabs, grilled lamb chops, tandoori prawns, sag gosht (lamb and spinach curry), chicken biriyani, tandoori roti and a kulfi lolly each plus mineral water at a total cost of about £60, not including the wine they brought with them.
Original Lahore Restaurant
148-150 Brent Street
Hendon
London NW4 2DR
+44 (0)208 203 6904
hendon@originallahore.com
www.originallahore.com
Tuesday, March 16, 2010
Cheltenham Racecourse, Prestbury Park, Gloucestershire
Mr Oil and Mr Vinegar are on their annual pilgrimage to Prestbury Park, the racecourse on the outskirts of Cheltenham in Gloucestershire,home of the annual Gold Cup Festival of Horseracing, the most important sporting event in the world...
MrO: I do love being at Cheltenham for the Festival. The atmosphere and excitement transcends all other considerations.
MrV: No it doesn’t. The place is filled with chavs and crazed Irish farmers all chucking their money away. Don’t chavs originate in Cheltenham?
MrO: Certainly not. That’s a silly lie told by the inverted snobs of the town in order to disparage the girls of Cheltenham Ladies’ College. It was claimed that CHAV was their abbreviation of Cheltenham Average, meaning the local boys. It was nonsense, although the local boys probably are rather low-rent, but that’s another matter. In fact, the word chav is a shortened version of chavini, which is the Romany name for a child. To call someone a chav is actually rather racist, if you regard gypsies as a race.
MrV: My God but you are a bore. Anyway, Cheltenham’s filled with chavs, whether it’s got anything to do with the girls’ college or not. And those slappers are hardly in a position to pass judgement.
MrO: You rant and rave every year about the crowds but the Festival is your main point of worship. It makes no sense.
MrV: Of course it does. It’s like having a favourite church but being annoyed with the calibre of the other worshippers.
MrO: What about the food, then?
MrV: I am surprised to have to admit that the food this year was very good on the first day. They chose tricky dishes and carried them off remarkably well.
MrO: I think this must be the first time that you’ve ever said anything nice about Letheby and Christopher.
MrV: As a rule I despise these giant event caterers. As a rule the food is vile. It’s not for nothing that they were known as Leathery and Crustifood. But something appears to have happened.
MrO: Perhaps they’ve changed the catering staff.
MrV: Not from the look of things – an ugly horde of obese ex-Catering Corp squaddies and spud-peelers are still, apparently, the dominant force in the kitchen. But for some reason they’ve improved their game. Scallops are a very tricky dish to get right for five people, never mind 5000. And the fillet of beef was genuinely rare and tender. It defies belief.
MrO: The chocolate cake was good too. I have a theory about all this.
MrV: Oh no. Another poncey theory.
MrO: It is that the foodie revolution – the whole Jamie Oliver, Gordon Ramsay thing – has finally caught up with event catering staff. That is something I could never have predicted.
MrV: Nor could anyone. I refuse to believe it. I think the whole thing is a fluke. Next year it will be rubbish again. And they have to do something about the temperature controls. For the last three years it has been unbearably hot in the tented chalets and apparently the boxes are no better. By Thursday they stink like gymnasia. Most of the time all the staff need to do is keep the doors open, but no matter how many times one asks this never happens.
Mr Oil and Mr Vinegar were guests of a senior racing figure. Their lunch and accompanying drinks in the tented village at Cheltenham cost many hundreds of pounds per head.
Cheltenham Racecourse
Prestbury Park
Cheltenham
Gloucestershire
GL50 4SH
+44 (0) 1242 539 538
www.cheltenham.co.uk/
MrO: I do love being at Cheltenham for the Festival. The atmosphere and excitement transcends all other considerations.
MrV: No it doesn’t. The place is filled with chavs and crazed Irish farmers all chucking their money away. Don’t chavs originate in Cheltenham?
MrO: Certainly not. That’s a silly lie told by the inverted snobs of the town in order to disparage the girls of Cheltenham Ladies’ College. It was claimed that CHAV was their abbreviation of Cheltenham Average, meaning the local boys. It was nonsense, although the local boys probably are rather low-rent, but that’s another matter. In fact, the word chav is a shortened version of chavini, which is the Romany name for a child. To call someone a chav is actually rather racist, if you regard gypsies as a race.
MrV: My God but you are a bore. Anyway, Cheltenham’s filled with chavs, whether it’s got anything to do with the girls’ college or not. And those slappers are hardly in a position to pass judgement.
MrO: You rant and rave every year about the crowds but the Festival is your main point of worship. It makes no sense.
MrV: Of course it does. It’s like having a favourite church but being annoyed with the calibre of the other worshippers.
MrO: What about the food, then?
MrV: I am surprised to have to admit that the food this year was very good on the first day. They chose tricky dishes and carried them off remarkably well.
MrO: I think this must be the first time that you’ve ever said anything nice about Letheby and Christopher.
MrV: As a rule I despise these giant event caterers. As a rule the food is vile. It’s not for nothing that they were known as Leathery and Crustifood. But something appears to have happened.
MrO: Perhaps they’ve changed the catering staff.
MrV: Not from the look of things – an ugly horde of obese ex-Catering Corp squaddies and spud-peelers are still, apparently, the dominant force in the kitchen. But for some reason they’ve improved their game. Scallops are a very tricky dish to get right for five people, never mind 5000. And the fillet of beef was genuinely rare and tender. It defies belief.
MrO: The chocolate cake was good too. I have a theory about all this.
MrV: Oh no. Another poncey theory.
MrO: It is that the foodie revolution – the whole Jamie Oliver, Gordon Ramsay thing – has finally caught up with event catering staff. That is something I could never have predicted.
MrV: Nor could anyone. I refuse to believe it. I think the whole thing is a fluke. Next year it will be rubbish again. And they have to do something about the temperature controls. For the last three years it has been unbearably hot in the tented chalets and apparently the boxes are no better. By Thursday they stink like gymnasia. Most of the time all the staff need to do is keep the doors open, but no matter how many times one asks this never happens.
Mr Oil and Mr Vinegar were guests of a senior racing figure. Their lunch and accompanying drinks in the tented village at Cheltenham cost many hundreds of pounds per head.
Cheltenham Racecourse
Prestbury Park
Cheltenham
Gloucestershire
GL50 4SH
+44 (0) 1242 539 538
www.cheltenham.co.uk/
Monday, March 15, 2010
Four Seasons, Gerrard Street, Chinatown
Mr Oil and Mr Vinegar, intrigued as ever by the Orient, have been to Chinatown in Soho to investigate claims that the Four Seasons (a Chinese restaurant rather than a giant international hotel group) serves the best roast duck in the world...
MrV: I hate Gerrard Street as a general rule.
MrO: What is it you hate most – the charming decorations or the general sense of fun?
MrV: I hate ghettos. You feel as if everyone’s sharing a big secret except you and a few other mugs.
MrO: Yes, I daresay that by speaking their own language amongst themselves they must be conspiring against you.
MrV: Your puerile attempts at sarcastic humour leave me cold. Anyway, what about the Four Seasons? What did you think of the look of the place?
MrO: I must admit, the look of it is not particularly impressive – at least no more nor less so than anywhere else in Gerrard Street.
MrV: Agreed – a lot of dead ducks hanging in the window and special offers everywhere. Inside was no better.
MrO: It’s not famous for the decor, that much is certain. But it was plain and unpretentious. The chairs were reasonably comfortable and the tables weren’t packed too closely together.
MrV: The service was quite casual.
MrO: I saw that as an advantage, as I feel a little uncomfortable with all the bowing and scraping that goes on in some Chinese restaurants...
MrV: Not in Soho. My brother once was at a dim sum restaurant round the corner when a bit of food popped out from between the chopsticks and fell on the floor. In a trice a Chinese waiter was standing next to him, screaming in his face: ‘Put food in mouth, not on floor!’
MrO: Not an entirely unreasonable suggestion. I was impressed at how smooth and fast the service was at the Four Seasons.
MrV: Except for the wine. It was a full 15 minutes after I’d finished my beer before he brought the wine, and that was only because I reminded him.
MrO: He was very apologetic and friendly. And it was quite exceptionally decent Pinot Grigio at £20 a bottle. I think you are being unreasonably critical, particularly as you raved about those spicy prawn dumplings.
MrV: They were good. Very good, in fact. Probably the best I’ve had.
MrO: Good heavens. Undiluted praise for once. What about the fried noodles?
MrV: They were a surprise.
MrO: I know. How they got so much flavour into fried noodles and a few beansprouts is beyond me. They must have cooked them in very strong stock or something. And what about the special barbecue roast duck? It was so rich and moist and tender that, I must say, I’m inclined to agree with all those critics who say it is the best roast duck in all the world.
MrV: Then you must be as stupid as them. You haven’t been to all the world, for a start, and you haven’t tasted roast duck everywhere you’ve been. So you have no idea. In the part of China these chaps come from, duck like this might be as common as fish and chips are over here.
MrO: Except that this one has a secret recipe, handed down through generations.
MrV: Maybe it has. Maybe it’s all an inscrutably clever public relations ruse.
MrO: Are you saying you’ve had better roast duck elsewhere?
MrV: Well, no.
MrO: Are you saying you know exactly how it is made, and could replicate the process?
MrV: Of course not you fool.
MrO: So it was the best you’ve had. Can you think of any legitimate criticisms?
MrV: There was too much. I had to leave half of it and you know how I hate waste. They should have warned us.
MrO: You ordered a whole duck because you said it only cost £20 so where was the harm if you couldn’t finish it.
MrV: Shut up.
Mr Oil and Mr Vinegar shared one portion of spicy prawn dumplings, one portion of fried noodles and one whole roast duck (off the bone recommended), as well as a glass of beer each and a bottle of Pinot Grigio. The total cost was about £60.
Four Seasons
2 Gerrard Street
Soho
London
W1D 5PR
+44 (0) 207 494 0870
MrV: I hate Gerrard Street as a general rule.
MrO: What is it you hate most – the charming decorations or the general sense of fun?
MrV: I hate ghettos. You feel as if everyone’s sharing a big secret except you and a few other mugs.
MrO: Yes, I daresay that by speaking their own language amongst themselves they must be conspiring against you.
MrV: Your puerile attempts at sarcastic humour leave me cold. Anyway, what about the Four Seasons? What did you think of the look of the place?
MrO: I must admit, the look of it is not particularly impressive – at least no more nor less so than anywhere else in Gerrard Street.
MrV: Agreed – a lot of dead ducks hanging in the window and special offers everywhere. Inside was no better.
MrO: It’s not famous for the decor, that much is certain. But it was plain and unpretentious. The chairs were reasonably comfortable and the tables weren’t packed too closely together.
MrV: The service was quite casual.
MrO: I saw that as an advantage, as I feel a little uncomfortable with all the bowing and scraping that goes on in some Chinese restaurants...
MrV: Not in Soho. My brother once was at a dim sum restaurant round the corner when a bit of food popped out from between the chopsticks and fell on the floor. In a trice a Chinese waiter was standing next to him, screaming in his face: ‘Put food in mouth, not on floor!’
MrO: Not an entirely unreasonable suggestion. I was impressed at how smooth and fast the service was at the Four Seasons.
MrV: Except for the wine. It was a full 15 minutes after I’d finished my beer before he brought the wine, and that was only because I reminded him.
MrO: He was very apologetic and friendly. And it was quite exceptionally decent Pinot Grigio at £20 a bottle. I think you are being unreasonably critical, particularly as you raved about those spicy prawn dumplings.
MrV: They were good. Very good, in fact. Probably the best I’ve had.
MrO: Good heavens. Undiluted praise for once. What about the fried noodles?
MrV: They were a surprise.
MrO: I know. How they got so much flavour into fried noodles and a few beansprouts is beyond me. They must have cooked them in very strong stock or something. And what about the special barbecue roast duck? It was so rich and moist and tender that, I must say, I’m inclined to agree with all those critics who say it is the best roast duck in all the world.
MrV: Then you must be as stupid as them. You haven’t been to all the world, for a start, and you haven’t tasted roast duck everywhere you’ve been. So you have no idea. In the part of China these chaps come from, duck like this might be as common as fish and chips are over here.
MrO: Except that this one has a secret recipe, handed down through generations.
MrV: Maybe it has. Maybe it’s all an inscrutably clever public relations ruse.
MrO: Are you saying you’ve had better roast duck elsewhere?
MrV: Well, no.
MrO: Are you saying you know exactly how it is made, and could replicate the process?
MrV: Of course not you fool.
MrO: So it was the best you’ve had. Can you think of any legitimate criticisms?
MrV: There was too much. I had to leave half of it and you know how I hate waste. They should have warned us.
MrO: You ordered a whole duck because you said it only cost £20 so where was the harm if you couldn’t finish it.
MrV: Shut up.
Mr Oil and Mr Vinegar shared one portion of spicy prawn dumplings, one portion of fried noodles and one whole roast duck (off the bone recommended), as well as a glass of beer each and a bottle of Pinot Grigio. The total cost was about £60.
Four Seasons
2 Gerrard Street
Soho
London
W1D 5PR
+44 (0) 207 494 0870
Tuesday, March 9, 2010
Le Beaujolais Club, Covent Garden
Mr Oil and Mr Vinegar journey east, through the tawdry horrors of Soho to Le Beaujolais, a little piece of France and one of London’s best-kept secrets.
MrV: I have never understood why the French Embassy doesn’t annexe the Beaujolais Club. Being there is so like being in France that everyone would understand them wanting to claim it as their own.
MrO: I daresay there are impracticalities involved. Do you think their government would let us do the same over there?
MrV: They have in the past. Many times. Those poor French. They’re never really happy running their own country. Yet we keep giving it back to them.
MrO: When precisely did we do that?
MrV: 15th century, 16th century, 19th century, twice in the 20th century – take your pick.
MrO: But we were going to talk about the dining experience.
MrV: Ah yes, we have much to thank the French for when it comes to food. If they hadn’t been offended by Marie Antoinette’s cakes they wouldn’t have crushed their aristocracy, which wouldn’t have put all those great cooks out on the street, which wouldn’t have caused the invention of the modern restaurant.
MrO: An interesting and possibly controversial theory...
MrV: There’s just the problem of French manners, but I suppose if you are going to murder all the people with good manners you cannot expect too much from those who are left.
MrO: Getting back to Le Beaujolais...
MrV: It’s an oasis. It really is in a dreadful spot, isn’t it? Sandwiched between the souks of Soho and Covent Garden, it’s a bit like being in the Arab quarter of Paris.
MrO: I am confused. Every time I think you are about to deliver a compliment you do the opposite. Do you like the place or not?
MrV: I love it. You step out of the madness and into what seems almost to be a friend’s house.
MrO: Thank goodness – a straightforward statement. Now then, what is it in particular that we like about this place: the food, the service, the price of the wine or the atmosphere?
MrV: Very good question. Michel and Jean-Yves are very friendly hosts. They always have a joke and will talk about the rugby very animatedly if you are interested. And there’s that lovely waitress. I don’t know her name, but I imagine quite a few members have harboured fantasies about her.
MrO: I think we can all guess the identity of one of them.
MrV: But the wine is very good value. That Marbuzet 2000 we had was only £65, which is about half what you’d pay in any other restaurant.
MrO: Personally, for me it is the food and the atmosphere equally. The other customers are civilised and look as if they would be quite good company. And the food is so wonderfully and unashamedly French. On that last visit my duck confit was quite excellent and the potatoes were truly garlicky.
MrV: I always find it hard to choose. The kidneys in mustard sauce are rightly famous, as is the cassoulet. Last time I had a splendid pudding of ice cream covered in chocolate sauce but usually I go for the cheese board, which is certainly one of the very best in London.
MrO: I do worry about telling all these people how wonderful it is when they aren’t members.
MrV: That shouldn’t be a problem. They can either ask around until they find a member to propose them or just wander along and ask how to join. It isn’t expensive – about £75 or £100 a year, I think -- and as long as they don’t look like a media tart from The Ivy next door they should get in all right.
MrO: We should point out that it’s not to be confused with the wine bar on the ground floor. I daresay that’s fine but it’s not like the dining club in the basement.
Mr Oil and Mr Vinegar ate a starter each, a main course each and a pudding each. To drink they had a glass of kir each, a bottle of fine wine and two cups of coffee (plus a complimentary liqueur each) at a total cost of about £130.
Le Beaujolais
25 Litchfield Street
London WC2H 9NJ
+44 (0) 207 836 2277
+44 (0) 207 240 3776
MrV: I have never understood why the French Embassy doesn’t annexe the Beaujolais Club. Being there is so like being in France that everyone would understand them wanting to claim it as their own.
MrO: I daresay there are impracticalities involved. Do you think their government would let us do the same over there?
MrV: They have in the past. Many times. Those poor French. They’re never really happy running their own country. Yet we keep giving it back to them.
MrO: When precisely did we do that?
MrV: 15th century, 16th century, 19th century, twice in the 20th century – take your pick.
MrO: But we were going to talk about the dining experience.
MrV: Ah yes, we have much to thank the French for when it comes to food. If they hadn’t been offended by Marie Antoinette’s cakes they wouldn’t have crushed their aristocracy, which wouldn’t have put all those great cooks out on the street, which wouldn’t have caused the invention of the modern restaurant.
MrO: An interesting and possibly controversial theory...
MrV: There’s just the problem of French manners, but I suppose if you are going to murder all the people with good manners you cannot expect too much from those who are left.
MrO: Getting back to Le Beaujolais...
MrV: It’s an oasis. It really is in a dreadful spot, isn’t it? Sandwiched between the souks of Soho and Covent Garden, it’s a bit like being in the Arab quarter of Paris.
MrO: I am confused. Every time I think you are about to deliver a compliment you do the opposite. Do you like the place or not?
MrV: I love it. You step out of the madness and into what seems almost to be a friend’s house.
MrO: Thank goodness – a straightforward statement. Now then, what is it in particular that we like about this place: the food, the service, the price of the wine or the atmosphere?
MrV: Very good question. Michel and Jean-Yves are very friendly hosts. They always have a joke and will talk about the rugby very animatedly if you are interested. And there’s that lovely waitress. I don’t know her name, but I imagine quite a few members have harboured fantasies about her.
MrO: I think we can all guess the identity of one of them.
MrV: But the wine is very good value. That Marbuzet 2000 we had was only £65, which is about half what you’d pay in any other restaurant.
MrO: Personally, for me it is the food and the atmosphere equally. The other customers are civilised and look as if they would be quite good company. And the food is so wonderfully and unashamedly French. On that last visit my duck confit was quite excellent and the potatoes were truly garlicky.
MrV: I always find it hard to choose. The kidneys in mustard sauce are rightly famous, as is the cassoulet. Last time I had a splendid pudding of ice cream covered in chocolate sauce but usually I go for the cheese board, which is certainly one of the very best in London.
MrO: I do worry about telling all these people how wonderful it is when they aren’t members.
MrV: That shouldn’t be a problem. They can either ask around until they find a member to propose them or just wander along and ask how to join. It isn’t expensive – about £75 or £100 a year, I think -- and as long as they don’t look like a media tart from The Ivy next door they should get in all right.
MrO: We should point out that it’s not to be confused with the wine bar on the ground floor. I daresay that’s fine but it’s not like the dining club in the basement.
Mr Oil and Mr Vinegar ate a starter each, a main course each and a pudding each. To drink they had a glass of kir each, a bottle of fine wine and two cups of coffee (plus a complimentary liqueur each) at a total cost of about £130.
Le Beaujolais
25 Litchfield Street
London WC2H 9NJ
+44 (0) 207 836 2277
+44 (0) 207 240 3776
Tamarind, Mayfair
Mr Oil and Mr Vinegar, feeling exceptionally lazy, are willing to stray only yards from Curzon Street, into Queen Street and the exotic delights of Tamarind, an award-winning Moghul restaurant.
MrV: That was the first time in some years I’d been back there. I wonder why?
MrO: I suspect it was shame.
MrV: Rubbish. What the devil do I have to be ashamed of?
MrO: Last time we came you had been reading that Roger Scruton book where he says that children should be beaten and given no presents. You became drunk and started shouting that we should all beat and molest our children. Some people were outraged, I think.
MrV: I don’t see why. Children aren’t even allowed in there in the evening.
MrO: It was lunchtime.
MrV: I wrote a note apologising, didn’t I?
MrO: Yes, you did. But I was nonetheless a little anxious when we arrived. If they recognised you then I daresay the Tamarind staff were nervous, too.
MrV: Well, it’s not going to stop me saying what I think.
MrO: Nor should it.
MrV: Although I like Tamarind.
MrO: So do I.
MrV: But, unusually for an Asian restaurant, I just didn’t fancy any of those starters. Usually I only want the starters and don’t care too much for the rest.
MrO: Peculiar, isn’t it?
MrV: I think it’s because there’s so very little that leaps out and grabs you in this appetisers list. Like this one: “Channa Chaat - Spiced chickpeas and whole wheat crisps with mint chutney, sweetened yoghurt topped with blueberries and tamarind chutney”. It just sounds like a load of stuff with nothing I can focus on.
MrO: All right, I think you’ve made your point now.
MrV: No, usually in Asian restaurants you get gibberish headings for dishes but they are explained underneath in layman’s terms that make one salivate.
MrO: Describing the hundreds of languages of Asia as ‘gibberish’ might conceivably cause offence.
MrV: You know what I mean. Gibberish to me.
MrO: Everything apart from your own speech is gibberish to you. Anyway, I don’t think we’ll judge the restaurant on how well – or badly – its menu is written. And it gave us an opportunity...
MrV: Indeed! It is rare that I have the excuse to have a main course as a starter. It thrills me how much my wife and doctor would disapprove.
MrO: I can’t decide which I preferred – the tiger prawns or the lamb cutlets.
MrV: It was the prawns for me. That ginger and whatnot marinade – delicious.
MrO: It was all quite filling.
MrV: I know, I know. That is the drawback of having main courses for starters – not enough room for the main course.
MrO: We managed okay, though, sharing a main course. The lamb chetinaad was very good. And the okra and chickpeas side dish was remarkably pleasant.
MrV: I’d been a bit worried about that one. Okra is not my favourite food. I tend to side with Gordon Ramsay, who says it’s foul, slimy stuff that he can’t make pleasant no matter how hard he tries.
MrO: Perhaps he should try Tamarind’s.
MrV: I also liked that roti bread a lot. And I loved that white Chateauneuf du Pape – you don’t see it in London restaurant wine lists often enough -- and my tea and ginger ice cream and lime and orange blossom sorbet were lovely.
MrO: The mango and basil was also very good...
MrV: I couldn’t taste the basil, but it was decent mango sorbet. It was all very good but, somehow, slightly lacking in drama.
MrO: It was lunchtime. In the evenings it’s much busier.
MrV: I know, I just expected something else...I don’t know what...because it’s a Moghul restaurant. A Genghis Khan special, or something.
MrO: Moghul food is nothing to do with Genghis Khan. The Moghal empire was hundreds of years after Genghis dominated the region. You are a dreadful ignoramus.
MrV: But I know what I like.
Mr Oil and Mr Vinegar ate three main courses and two puddings, with two glasses of champagne, a bottle of wine, one digestif, one glass of pudding wine and two cups of coffee, at a total cost of about £160.
Tamarind
20-22 Queen Street
London W1J 5PR
+44 (0) 207 629 3561
reservations@tamarindrestaurant.com
www.tamarindrestaurant.com
MrV: That was the first time in some years I’d been back there. I wonder why?
MrO: I suspect it was shame.
MrV: Rubbish. What the devil do I have to be ashamed of?
MrO: Last time we came you had been reading that Roger Scruton book where he says that children should be beaten and given no presents. You became drunk and started shouting that we should all beat and molest our children. Some people were outraged, I think.
MrV: I don’t see why. Children aren’t even allowed in there in the evening.
MrO: It was lunchtime.
MrV: I wrote a note apologising, didn’t I?
MrO: Yes, you did. But I was nonetheless a little anxious when we arrived. If they recognised you then I daresay the Tamarind staff were nervous, too.
MrV: Well, it’s not going to stop me saying what I think.
MrO: Nor should it.
MrV: Although I like Tamarind.
MrO: So do I.
MrV: But, unusually for an Asian restaurant, I just didn’t fancy any of those starters. Usually I only want the starters and don’t care too much for the rest.
MrO: Peculiar, isn’t it?
MrV: I think it’s because there’s so very little that leaps out and grabs you in this appetisers list. Like this one: “Channa Chaat - Spiced chickpeas and whole wheat crisps with mint chutney, sweetened yoghurt topped with blueberries and tamarind chutney”. It just sounds like a load of stuff with nothing I can focus on.
MrO: All right, I think you’ve made your point now.
MrV: No, usually in Asian restaurants you get gibberish headings for dishes but they are explained underneath in layman’s terms that make one salivate.
MrO: Describing the hundreds of languages of Asia as ‘gibberish’ might conceivably cause offence.
MrV: You know what I mean. Gibberish to me.
MrO: Everything apart from your own speech is gibberish to you. Anyway, I don’t think we’ll judge the restaurant on how well – or badly – its menu is written. And it gave us an opportunity...
MrV: Indeed! It is rare that I have the excuse to have a main course as a starter. It thrills me how much my wife and doctor would disapprove.
MrO: I can’t decide which I preferred – the tiger prawns or the lamb cutlets.
MrV: It was the prawns for me. That ginger and whatnot marinade – delicious.
MrO: It was all quite filling.
MrV: I know, I know. That is the drawback of having main courses for starters – not enough room for the main course.
MrO: We managed okay, though, sharing a main course. The lamb chetinaad was very good. And the okra and chickpeas side dish was remarkably pleasant.
MrV: I’d been a bit worried about that one. Okra is not my favourite food. I tend to side with Gordon Ramsay, who says it’s foul, slimy stuff that he can’t make pleasant no matter how hard he tries.
MrO: Perhaps he should try Tamarind’s.
MrV: I also liked that roti bread a lot. And I loved that white Chateauneuf du Pape – you don’t see it in London restaurant wine lists often enough -- and my tea and ginger ice cream and lime and orange blossom sorbet were lovely.
MrO: The mango and basil was also very good...
MrV: I couldn’t taste the basil, but it was decent mango sorbet. It was all very good but, somehow, slightly lacking in drama.
MrO: It was lunchtime. In the evenings it’s much busier.
MrV: I know, I just expected something else...I don’t know what...because it’s a Moghul restaurant. A Genghis Khan special, or something.
MrO: Moghul food is nothing to do with Genghis Khan. The Moghal empire was hundreds of years after Genghis dominated the region. You are a dreadful ignoramus.
MrV: But I know what I like.
Mr Oil and Mr Vinegar ate three main courses and two puddings, with two glasses of champagne, a bottle of wine, one digestif, one glass of pudding wine and two cups of coffee, at a total cost of about £160.
Tamarind
20-22 Queen Street
London W1J 5PR
+44 (0) 207 629 3561
reservations@tamarindrestaurant.com
www.tamarindrestaurant.com
Monday, March 8, 2010
Le Gavroche, Mayfair
Mr Oil and Mr Vinegar have been to London’s most enduring exemplar restaurant, Le Gavroche, prompting some unusually strident views from Mr Oil.
MrO: Taking everything into account, that is unquestionably the finest restaurant in London.
MrV: What nonsense. You only have to look at the guide books – most notably the Michelin Guide – to see that your views are out of date.
MrO: It is a weak intellect which follows the swings and roundabouts of fashion. Secretaries and spivs are always changing their costumes. Secretaries and spivs have ‘makeovers’. Gentlemen, on the other hand, will wear the same style of suit for their whole lives, and it will be the best.
MrV: What on earth are you on about?
MrO: Le Gavroche is like the finest bespoke Saville Row suit. It is the benchmark against which all others are measured, and those who don’t understand that are philistines. It is unquestionably the most influential restaurant in Britain, as is privately – if sometimes grudgingly – acknowledged by virtually all the best chefs, many of whom, incidentally, were trained there.
MrV: You’re certainly on your hobby horse today.
MrO: I find that I am unwilling to swallow your usual sour and miserly comments when it comes to this restaurant. You must give credit where it’s due. I insist.
MrV: You are ignoring the influence of Michel Bourdin at the old Connaught.
MrO: I am not. Bourdin was a brilliant chef and an excellent mentor, but he had the backing of a great hotel group which needed a superb restaurant to attract wealthy international customers. Le Gavroche was the first to attain – and then exceed – such standards in a stand-alone venture. That is what makes it unique, as you ought to realise.
MrV: You can’t dictate my opinions. And how can you argue that a restaurant based in the half-light of a basement is the best in the country?
MrO: The location is not ideal, I concede, but in my view Le Gavroche transcends such considerations. The Roux family set a standard more than 40 years ago when they opened this place and not only has that standard not slipped, but everyone else has copied it. And it took the rest of the catering business a quarter of a century to even get close.
MrV: If standards haven’t slipped, why did it lose a Michelin star in 1993?
MrO: Because, as young Michel Roux has explained, he’s not running that sort of restaurant any more. When he took over from his father in 1991, he immediately set about modernising the classic French food and the Michelin inspectors, in their infinite wisdom, decided he deserved a demotion.
MrV: But you think you know better than them.
MrO: Clearly, the customers think they do. This place has been close to fully-booked for four decades. In my opinion the Michelin inspectors were offended because the Gavroche was the first British restaurant to get three Michelin stars but instead of bowing to the accolade for ever, Michel decided to move a little beyond Michelin. He moved the goalposts and the inspectors felt rejected.
MrV: But if, as you rightly point out, many of the best chefs were trained at the Gavroche, doesn’t that mean you can get the same quality of food elsewhere, quite often at much lower cost?
MrO: A copy, even a good one, is still a copy. And in any case, it’s not all about the food. There’s a quality of service there that is very rare.
MrV: Well, we all know about Silvano Giraldin being the best front-of-house man of all time, but he’s retired now.
MrO: The people he trained are still there and he remains a director. He was there at our most recent visit.
MrV: That was a special occasion.
MrO: It certainly was. It’s very decent of Roux to give over his restaurant to the Game and Wildlife Conservation Trust once a year. They raise a good bit of money to ensure we have plenty to shoot at.
MrV: I’m not complaining about that dinner.
MrO: Nor should you. The lobster and artichoke salad was a beautiful starter.
MrV: I enjoyed that rather lower class fish course of mackerel and gurnard.
MrO: Every man finds his level. The main course was well-timed for us, as we could compare our luncheon venison with Roux’s. But there was no comparison, was there?
MrV: In flavour, yes. All venison tastes the same to me. But Roux’s was far more tender. I wasn’t entirely convinced by the pudding, though. The vanilla and peanut mousse was excellent but my banana macaroon didn’t taste of banana.
MrO: I’m going to allow you that criticism, in the interests of balance.
Mr Oil and Mr Vinegar ate four courses each accompanied by champagne, Chardonnay Planeta 2007, Chateau L’Ecuyer 2004 and Vin de Constance 2004, at a total cost of £175 per head.
Le Gavroche
43 Upper Brook Street
London W1
+44 (0) 207 408 0881
bookings@le-gavroche.co.uk
www.le-gavroche.co.uk
MrO: Taking everything into account, that is unquestionably the finest restaurant in London.
MrV: What nonsense. You only have to look at the guide books – most notably the Michelin Guide – to see that your views are out of date.
MrO: It is a weak intellect which follows the swings and roundabouts of fashion. Secretaries and spivs are always changing their costumes. Secretaries and spivs have ‘makeovers’. Gentlemen, on the other hand, will wear the same style of suit for their whole lives, and it will be the best.
MrV: What on earth are you on about?
MrO: Le Gavroche is like the finest bespoke Saville Row suit. It is the benchmark against which all others are measured, and those who don’t understand that are philistines. It is unquestionably the most influential restaurant in Britain, as is privately – if sometimes grudgingly – acknowledged by virtually all the best chefs, many of whom, incidentally, were trained there.
MrV: You’re certainly on your hobby horse today.
MrO: I find that I am unwilling to swallow your usual sour and miserly comments when it comes to this restaurant. You must give credit where it’s due. I insist.
MrV: You are ignoring the influence of Michel Bourdin at the old Connaught.
MrO: I am not. Bourdin was a brilliant chef and an excellent mentor, but he had the backing of a great hotel group which needed a superb restaurant to attract wealthy international customers. Le Gavroche was the first to attain – and then exceed – such standards in a stand-alone venture. That is what makes it unique, as you ought to realise.
MrV: You can’t dictate my opinions. And how can you argue that a restaurant based in the half-light of a basement is the best in the country?
MrO: The location is not ideal, I concede, but in my view Le Gavroche transcends such considerations. The Roux family set a standard more than 40 years ago when they opened this place and not only has that standard not slipped, but everyone else has copied it. And it took the rest of the catering business a quarter of a century to even get close.
MrV: If standards haven’t slipped, why did it lose a Michelin star in 1993?
MrO: Because, as young Michel Roux has explained, he’s not running that sort of restaurant any more. When he took over from his father in 1991, he immediately set about modernising the classic French food and the Michelin inspectors, in their infinite wisdom, decided he deserved a demotion.
MrV: But you think you know better than them.
MrO: Clearly, the customers think they do. This place has been close to fully-booked for four decades. In my opinion the Michelin inspectors were offended because the Gavroche was the first British restaurant to get three Michelin stars but instead of bowing to the accolade for ever, Michel decided to move a little beyond Michelin. He moved the goalposts and the inspectors felt rejected.
MrV: But if, as you rightly point out, many of the best chefs were trained at the Gavroche, doesn’t that mean you can get the same quality of food elsewhere, quite often at much lower cost?
MrO: A copy, even a good one, is still a copy. And in any case, it’s not all about the food. There’s a quality of service there that is very rare.
MrV: Well, we all know about Silvano Giraldin being the best front-of-house man of all time, but he’s retired now.
MrO: The people he trained are still there and he remains a director. He was there at our most recent visit.
MrV: That was a special occasion.
MrO: It certainly was. It’s very decent of Roux to give over his restaurant to the Game and Wildlife Conservation Trust once a year. They raise a good bit of money to ensure we have plenty to shoot at.
MrV: I’m not complaining about that dinner.
MrO: Nor should you. The lobster and artichoke salad was a beautiful starter.
MrV: I enjoyed that rather lower class fish course of mackerel and gurnard.
MrO: Every man finds his level. The main course was well-timed for us, as we could compare our luncheon venison with Roux’s. But there was no comparison, was there?
MrV: In flavour, yes. All venison tastes the same to me. But Roux’s was far more tender. I wasn’t entirely convinced by the pudding, though. The vanilla and peanut mousse was excellent but my banana macaroon didn’t taste of banana.
MrO: I’m going to allow you that criticism, in the interests of balance.
Mr Oil and Mr Vinegar ate four courses each accompanied by champagne, Chardonnay Planeta 2007, Chateau L’Ecuyer 2004 and Vin de Constance 2004, at a total cost of £175 per head.
Le Gavroche
43 Upper Brook Street
London W1
+44 (0) 207 408 0881
bookings@le-gavroche.co.uk
www.le-gavroche.co.uk
Monday, March 1, 2010
Nahm, The Halkin, Belgravia
Mr Oil and Mr Vinegar have been to The Halkin, a bijou, highly-rated hotel in Belgravia which is also home to Nahm, the only Michelin-starred Thai restaurant in Europe.
MrO: It’s a long time since our previous visit. I reckon it must be five years. Can’t think why.
MrV: At least five years. Last time, my wife complained for two days afterwards about the stink of garlic.
MrO: Mine too. So did my friends. I can’t recall which was the offending dish that time, but it must have had at least a dozen cloves of garlic in it.
MrV: Marvellous.
MrO: I didn’t see anything quite like that on the menu this time. But the food we had was extraordinary.
MrV: The starters were certainly up to scratch. That mii grop dish of noodles, prawns and beansprouts was very satisfactory.
MrO: I liked the basket of woven egg surrounding it. That other starter was very different, too...
MrV: Ah yes, King Dong. I thought he was a famous actor in films of, er, questionable taste.
MrO: He is. The dish you refer to is yam king dong, as you well know. Haven’t you got past the stage of snickering at Thai names yet?
MrV: Like prik num?
MrO: Anyway, I thought that squid and pork salad was fabulous.
MrV: It was, it was. If only Thai main courses could live up to the starters. I’ve often noticed that the main courses are usually a let-down in Thai restaurants. There must be a reason for it. Perhaps it’s because they eat lots of small dishes and their cuisine is designed around that.
MrO: Maybe we should try eating nothing but starters some time. Except that then we would have missed the red curry of quail with peanuts...
MrV: ...and holy basil, whatever that may be.
MrO: Thais attach all sorts of adjectives to their food. Nahm is not Thai, food, you notice, but Royal Thai Cuisine.
MrV: What that means is anybody’s guess. I’ve searched the internet for the difference between Royal Thai and Thai cooking, but can’t find one.
MrO: I think Royal Thai just means extra fancy. They all love their royal family above all else. But getting back to the red curry quails, they were pretty special.
MrV: They were but I was very disappointed with the stir-fried crab and pork. I chose it thinking it just might be the highlight of the meal.
MrO: It was rather bland, wasn’t it?
MrV: The pork was tender enough but all I could taste was it and the oriental sauce. No taste of crab whatever. Strange that pork worked with squid but not with crab, which has a stronger taste than squid. Maybe they forgot to put the crab in.
MrO: Overall, though, It’s a lovely place. Very discreet and quietly opulent.
MrV: Spare us your poncey descriptions. It’s a good place, despite one or two drawbacks, and I’d like to go back, whatever the wife says. She complained again this time about the garlic smell.
MrO: Mine too. In fact, she refused to be in the same room as me for two days afterwards.
MrV: Mine too. Such peace. On reflection, we should go back very soon.
Mr Oil and Mr Vinegar ate two courses each, washed down with two vodka-and-tonics, a bottle of water, a bottle of Chianti (Castello di Querceto, ‘Cignale’ 2003, £90) and two cups of coffee, at a total cost of about £210.
Nahm
The Halkin
Halkin Street
London
SW1X 7DJ
+44 (0)207 333 1234
res@nahm.como.bz
http://www.halkin.como.bz/eat-and-drink/nahm
MrO: It’s a long time since our previous visit. I reckon it must be five years. Can’t think why.
MrV: At least five years. Last time, my wife complained for two days afterwards about the stink of garlic.
MrO: Mine too. So did my friends. I can’t recall which was the offending dish that time, but it must have had at least a dozen cloves of garlic in it.
MrV: Marvellous.
MrO: I didn’t see anything quite like that on the menu this time. But the food we had was extraordinary.
MrV: The starters were certainly up to scratch. That mii grop dish of noodles, prawns and beansprouts was very satisfactory.
MrO: I liked the basket of woven egg surrounding it. That other starter was very different, too...
MrV: Ah yes, King Dong. I thought he was a famous actor in films of, er, questionable taste.
MrO: He is. The dish you refer to is yam king dong, as you well know. Haven’t you got past the stage of snickering at Thai names yet?
MrV: Like prik num?
MrO: Anyway, I thought that squid and pork salad was fabulous.
MrV: It was, it was. If only Thai main courses could live up to the starters. I’ve often noticed that the main courses are usually a let-down in Thai restaurants. There must be a reason for it. Perhaps it’s because they eat lots of small dishes and their cuisine is designed around that.
MrO: Maybe we should try eating nothing but starters some time. Except that then we would have missed the red curry of quail with peanuts...
MrV: ...and holy basil, whatever that may be.
MrO: Thais attach all sorts of adjectives to their food. Nahm is not Thai, food, you notice, but Royal Thai Cuisine.
MrV: What that means is anybody’s guess. I’ve searched the internet for the difference between Royal Thai and Thai cooking, but can’t find one.
MrO: I think Royal Thai just means extra fancy. They all love their royal family above all else. But getting back to the red curry quails, they were pretty special.
MrV: They were but I was very disappointed with the stir-fried crab and pork. I chose it thinking it just might be the highlight of the meal.
MrO: It was rather bland, wasn’t it?
MrV: The pork was tender enough but all I could taste was it and the oriental sauce. No taste of crab whatever. Strange that pork worked with squid but not with crab, which has a stronger taste than squid. Maybe they forgot to put the crab in.
MrO: Overall, though, It’s a lovely place. Very discreet and quietly opulent.
MrV: Spare us your poncey descriptions. It’s a good place, despite one or two drawbacks, and I’d like to go back, whatever the wife says. She complained again this time about the garlic smell.
MrO: Mine too. In fact, she refused to be in the same room as me for two days afterwards.
MrV: Mine too. Such peace. On reflection, we should go back very soon.
Mr Oil and Mr Vinegar ate two courses each, washed down with two vodka-and-tonics, a bottle of water, a bottle of Chianti (Castello di Querceto, ‘Cignale’ 2003, £90) and two cups of coffee, at a total cost of about £210.
Nahm
The Halkin
Halkin Street
London
SW1X 7DJ
+44 (0)207 333 1234
res@nahm.como.bz
http://www.halkin.como.bz/eat-and-drink/nahm
Friday, February 26, 2010
Chez Kristof, Hammersmith Grove *NOW DEFUNCT*
Mr Oil and Mr Vinegar break with convention and dine in the company of their wives – purely because it is Valentine’s Day and Mr Vinegar is worried about appearances. They travel out west to Chez Kristof, in leafy Hammersmith Grove.
MrO: I do think you made far too much fuss about that expedition.
MrV: Maybe so, but I didn’t want anyone to think there was something going on between the two of us.
MrO: I am sure they wouldn’t have done. Not everyone dining out on Valentine’s Day is on a romantic assignation.
MrV: They all looked as if they were, except the marrieds, of course, who didn’t talk to each other.
MrO: Anyway, having taken the precaution of bringing our wives, I can’t see why you felt the need to drag us away from our usual haunts all the way to Hammersmith.
MrV: Just a precaution. Reputation is everything.
MrO: I’m glad you did, though. Chez Kristof is an excellent find.
MrV: I wasn’t too sure about those pink cocktails they thrust into our hands as soon as we sat down.
MrO: It was all part of the Valentine’s menu. The ladies seemed to enjoy their Raspberry Royales.
MrV: I was less convinced about the almond thing – amaretto, triple sec and pineapple juice.
MrO: But the food was jolly good.
MrV: I was hoping that you or one of the wives would choose a different starter to mine, so we could have compared. But you all followed me down the foie gras and chicken liver parfait route. Your wife was quite sharp with me when I suggested she try something different. She’s always been one to speak her mind.
MrO: Anyway, the starter was excellent. We were more varied for the main course. Your wife was very accommodating – typically so, if I may say - agreeing to share the chateaubriand with me. Very good it was, too.
MrV: I quite enjoyed my slow roasted pork belly but I wish they’d done proper crackling. Restaurants rarely do. Instead of crackling they’d sort of fried one side of the pork until it became crispy. Your wife was a little rude about her sea bass, I thought.
MrO: Complained it was bland. Said we’d left her with little choice having ordered the two best things on the menu for ourselves. She reminds me of you in many ways.
MrV: That’s precisely the sort of stupid comment that get’s people talking. And I hope you are not suggesting that I’m overly-critical. Nothing could be further from the truth.
MrO: If you say so. The puddings looked delicious.
MrV: You should have had one.
MrO: I would have done but Mrs Oil was quite determined to prevent me, saying it was high time I started counting the calories.
MrV: You would have enjoyed the chocolate moilleux with salt caramel mousse. And the women seemed to love that chocolate fondue. You looked rather pathetic, sitting watching every forkful from the plate to our mouths, all hangdog. Very funny.
MrO: There was no need for you to wave yours under my nose.
MrV: It added to my enjoyment of the evening immensely. The wine list, incidentally, was adequate, but hardly inspiring.
MrO: You gulped down that Rioja greedily enough.
MrV: Your wife positively encouraged me to – said you wouldn’t want any of it. She seemed to enjoy that white burgundy though, didn’t she? Didn’t let my wife get much of a look-in.
MrO: I think we should go back again, but without the women. The food was worth revisiting, and also I could have a proper go at the menu and the wine list.
Mr Oil, Mr Vinegar and their wives had the Valentine’s night menu at £50 per head and spent a further £70 on wine and service.
Chez Kristof
111 Hammersmith Grove
Hammersmith, London W6 0NQ
+44 (0) 208 741 1177
info@chezkristof.co.uk
www.chezkristof.co.uk
MrO: I do think you made far too much fuss about that expedition.
MrV: Maybe so, but I didn’t want anyone to think there was something going on between the two of us.
MrO: I am sure they wouldn’t have done. Not everyone dining out on Valentine’s Day is on a romantic assignation.
MrV: They all looked as if they were, except the marrieds, of course, who didn’t talk to each other.
MrO: Anyway, having taken the precaution of bringing our wives, I can’t see why you felt the need to drag us away from our usual haunts all the way to Hammersmith.
MrV: Just a precaution. Reputation is everything.
MrO: I’m glad you did, though. Chez Kristof is an excellent find.
MrV: I wasn’t too sure about those pink cocktails they thrust into our hands as soon as we sat down.
MrO: It was all part of the Valentine’s menu. The ladies seemed to enjoy their Raspberry Royales.
MrV: I was less convinced about the almond thing – amaretto, triple sec and pineapple juice.
MrO: But the food was jolly good.
MrV: I was hoping that you or one of the wives would choose a different starter to mine, so we could have compared. But you all followed me down the foie gras and chicken liver parfait route. Your wife was quite sharp with me when I suggested she try something different. She’s always been one to speak her mind.
MrO: Anyway, the starter was excellent. We were more varied for the main course. Your wife was very accommodating – typically so, if I may say - agreeing to share the chateaubriand with me. Very good it was, too.
MrV: I quite enjoyed my slow roasted pork belly but I wish they’d done proper crackling. Restaurants rarely do. Instead of crackling they’d sort of fried one side of the pork until it became crispy. Your wife was a little rude about her sea bass, I thought.
MrO: Complained it was bland. Said we’d left her with little choice having ordered the two best things on the menu for ourselves. She reminds me of you in many ways.
MrV: That’s precisely the sort of stupid comment that get’s people talking. And I hope you are not suggesting that I’m overly-critical. Nothing could be further from the truth.
MrO: If you say so. The puddings looked delicious.
MrV: You should have had one.
MrO: I would have done but Mrs Oil was quite determined to prevent me, saying it was high time I started counting the calories.
MrV: You would have enjoyed the chocolate moilleux with salt caramel mousse. And the women seemed to love that chocolate fondue. You looked rather pathetic, sitting watching every forkful from the plate to our mouths, all hangdog. Very funny.
MrO: There was no need for you to wave yours under my nose.
MrV: It added to my enjoyment of the evening immensely. The wine list, incidentally, was adequate, but hardly inspiring.
MrO: You gulped down that Rioja greedily enough.
MrV: Your wife positively encouraged me to – said you wouldn’t want any of it. She seemed to enjoy that white burgundy though, didn’t she? Didn’t let my wife get much of a look-in.
MrO: I think we should go back again, but without the women. The food was worth revisiting, and also I could have a proper go at the menu and the wine list.
Mr Oil, Mr Vinegar and their wives had the Valentine’s night menu at £50 per head and spent a further £70 on wine and service.
Chez Kristof
111 Hammersmith Grove
Hammersmith, London W6 0NQ
+44 (0) 208 741 1177
info@chezkristof.co.uk
www.chezkristof.co.uk
Galvin Bistrot de Luxe, Baker Street
Mr Oil and Mr Vinegar have been on a rare excursion north of Oxford Street to the Galvin brothers’ Baker Street restaurant, Galvin Bistrot de Luxe.
MrO: That really was a pleasant surprise.
MrV: In general, I agree. North London is usually so ghastly.
MrO: That’s not what I meant. I had been worried that with the Galvins having so many restaurants now, they might have overstretched and that this one might disappoint.
MrV: I would be far more worried about their venue at the top of the Park Lane Hilton. I hate all the Hiltons. Whether it’s the Kensington Hilton, the New York Hilton or the Paris Hilton - they all seem to my personal taste to be common and undiscerning, as if anyone can sleep there if they have the money.
MrO: Nonetheless, their Hilton restaurant is highly regarded. But we were discussing Baker Street.
MrV: Yes, I’d forgotten that Marylebone could be pleasant. It’s such a peculiar area, so filled with foreigners -- one tends to write it off.
MrO: I agree. But Bistrot de Luxe was like an oasis in the desert. There were two principle qualities which stood out. One was that it looked and felt like a genuine Paris bistrot. The other was that it was full of grown-ups.
MrV: I know what you mean. South of Oxford Street is nearer civilisation but it does attract a huge number of adolescent hedge fund managers, property spivs and gibbering media groupies. Not to mention their hideous, shrieking, mayonnaise-gobbling secretaries.
MrO: I should think the average age of Galvin’s clientele was somewhere in the forties and pretty much all of them were pleasantly behaved, well-presented and intelligent looking.
MrV: These days one so rarely sees whole restaurants full of decent folk. Bistrot de Luxe was a bit like being in first class when I was young -- in the days when they wouldn’t let foreigners or the nouveau riche in, no matter how much money they flashed around.
MrO: The Galvins’ food was very good, too.
MrV: Yes, although it has its drawbacks.
MrO: You were full of praise for your rock oysters with hot chorizo. And my crab lasagne was utterly sublime – one of the finest starters I will have this year, I should think.
MrV: Indeed, but the main courses did not fare so well. My bavette of beef with macaroni cheese didn’t really work. The beef would have been interesting – bavette is a tasty cut from the flank which you don’t often see in this country – except for that sweet sticky sauce which completely overwhelmed both it and the macaroni cheese. It was a shame and I left half of mine.
MrO: I wasn’t entirely happy with the roasted veal brain...
MrV: You weren’t the only one. I had hoped that an influx of fresh brains might make your conversation more interesting, but it didn’t.
MrO: ...The texture was perfect, crisp on the outside, but I felt that it might have been better seasoned. All the flavour was in the sauce, instead, which disappointed a little. Mind you, I ate every scrap.
MrV: The wine was more expensive than advertised on the website. That Segla Margaux 2001, delicious though it was, was supposed to be £59.75 and they charged us £62.
MrO: But it was still exceptionally good value. Even at the slightly higher price, it was a mark-up of only about 100 per cent compared to the going retail price, which is extremely restrained and made up for any small disappointments in the food department. And my oeuf a la neige was fabulous.
MrV: The lemon and orange sorbets were very good indeed but the apricot rather left me cold.
MrO: Isn’t that what sorbet is supposed to do? In any case, you don’t even like apricots so what made you think you’d like apricot sorbet?
MrV: Your pedagogery is beginning to bore me. Shut up.
Mr Oil and Mr Vinegar consumed three courses each plus one vodka and tonic, one glass of Chablis, one bottle of claret, two glasses of Poire William eau de vie and two cups of coffee, at a total cost of about £190.
Galvin Bistrot de Luxe
66 Baker Street
London
W1U 7DJ
+44 (0) 20 7935 4007
info@galvinrestaurants.com
http://www.galvinrestaurants.com/section.php/4/1/galvin_bistrot_de_luxe
MrO: That really was a pleasant surprise.
MrV: In general, I agree. North London is usually so ghastly.
MrO: That’s not what I meant. I had been worried that with the Galvins having so many restaurants now, they might have overstretched and that this one might disappoint.
MrV: I would be far more worried about their venue at the top of the Park Lane Hilton. I hate all the Hiltons. Whether it’s the Kensington Hilton, the New York Hilton or the Paris Hilton - they all seem to my personal taste to be common and undiscerning, as if anyone can sleep there if they have the money.
MrO: Nonetheless, their Hilton restaurant is highly regarded. But we were discussing Baker Street.
MrV: Yes, I’d forgotten that Marylebone could be pleasant. It’s such a peculiar area, so filled with foreigners -- one tends to write it off.
MrO: I agree. But Bistrot de Luxe was like an oasis in the desert. There were two principle qualities which stood out. One was that it looked and felt like a genuine Paris bistrot. The other was that it was full of grown-ups.
MrV: I know what you mean. South of Oxford Street is nearer civilisation but it does attract a huge number of adolescent hedge fund managers, property spivs and gibbering media groupies. Not to mention their hideous, shrieking, mayonnaise-gobbling secretaries.
MrO: I should think the average age of Galvin’s clientele was somewhere in the forties and pretty much all of them were pleasantly behaved, well-presented and intelligent looking.
MrV: These days one so rarely sees whole restaurants full of decent folk. Bistrot de Luxe was a bit like being in first class when I was young -- in the days when they wouldn’t let foreigners or the nouveau riche in, no matter how much money they flashed around.
MrO: The Galvins’ food was very good, too.
MrV: Yes, although it has its drawbacks.
MrO: You were full of praise for your rock oysters with hot chorizo. And my crab lasagne was utterly sublime – one of the finest starters I will have this year, I should think.
MrV: Indeed, but the main courses did not fare so well. My bavette of beef with macaroni cheese didn’t really work. The beef would have been interesting – bavette is a tasty cut from the flank which you don’t often see in this country – except for that sweet sticky sauce which completely overwhelmed both it and the macaroni cheese. It was a shame and I left half of mine.
MrO: I wasn’t entirely happy with the roasted veal brain...
MrV: You weren’t the only one. I had hoped that an influx of fresh brains might make your conversation more interesting, but it didn’t.
MrO: ...The texture was perfect, crisp on the outside, but I felt that it might have been better seasoned. All the flavour was in the sauce, instead, which disappointed a little. Mind you, I ate every scrap.
MrV: The wine was more expensive than advertised on the website. That Segla Margaux 2001, delicious though it was, was supposed to be £59.75 and they charged us £62.
MrO: But it was still exceptionally good value. Even at the slightly higher price, it was a mark-up of only about 100 per cent compared to the going retail price, which is extremely restrained and made up for any small disappointments in the food department. And my oeuf a la neige was fabulous.
MrV: The lemon and orange sorbets were very good indeed but the apricot rather left me cold.
MrO: Isn’t that what sorbet is supposed to do? In any case, you don’t even like apricots so what made you think you’d like apricot sorbet?
MrV: Your pedagogery is beginning to bore me. Shut up.
Mr Oil and Mr Vinegar consumed three courses each plus one vodka and tonic, one glass of Chablis, one bottle of claret, two glasses of Poire William eau de vie and two cups of coffee, at a total cost of about £190.
Galvin Bistrot de Luxe
66 Baker Street
London
W1U 7DJ
+44 (0) 20 7935 4007
info@galvinrestaurants.com
http://www.galvinrestaurants.com/section.php/4/1/galvin_bistrot_de_luxe
Wednesday, February 10, 2010
Cocoon, Regent Street
Mr Oil and Mr Vinegar stroll along to Regent Street, where the restaurant Cocoon has been attracting much praise. They are quite impressed.
MrV: I must say my heart sank when I walked in. Didn’t it used to be l’Odeon? I never liked that place much.
MrO: Your prejudice was obvious. I thought initially that your mind was irretrievably set.
MrV: Those ridiculous bucket chairs didn't help. They look like rejects from an episode of The Jetsons [for younger readers, a 1960s cartoon about the space age]. For a restaurant that's only been open a short while it’s hard to imagine how their chairs got in such bad condition. Perhaps they got them second hand. And they are designed more for lounging than sitting at a table.
MrO: I suspect that having low chairs has something to do with the height of the ceiling. Chairs of normal height might make the room feel a bit claustrophobic. But, apart from the reservations about the furnishings, I thought this was a truly excellent restaurant.
MrV: Steady on...
MrO: No, I mean it. It’s rare to come across such flawless food and service in one place. And if the surroundings aren't perfect then that's a small price for near-perfection in the rest of the offering.
MrV: I acknowledge that we had quite wonderful service but there was hardly anybody else there.
MrO: True, but I find that it tends to be easier to get good service in a busy restaurant than in an empty one. A bit like that saying: if you want something done ask a busy man. But what about the food? It was in every respect superb.
MrV: Yes, from the first taste of the first course my opinion of the place changed.
MrO: It was a good idea to have two starters each as well as a main course. The sesame king prawn toast balls were fabulous, although tricky to eat with chop sticks because they were so big. You have to spear them in order to take bites rather than shove the whole thing in at once...
MrV: ...like an American.
MrO: I also thought the Guangzhou pork & radish dumplings exquisite. And so were the sushi rolls.
MrV: I like to think I know my stuff when it comes to beef rendang, and that was as good as any I’ve come across.
MrO: My steamed sea bass was cooked perfectly, although perhaps it was not quite as interesting as some of the other things on the menu.
MrV: My favourite was the pudding. Poached pears can be dull but that was spectacular. The salted caramel ice cream and caramel pear puree around the pear were magnificent.
MrO: I think it gets my award for pudding of the year...so far. I’m feeling a little concerned that you are being so nice about Cocoon. Apart from the chairs, can’t you think of anything to criticise?
MrV: Well, my hackles go up a little when I hear that a restaurant describes itself as ‘pan-Asian’. What on earth is it supposed to mean? When I was a child we used to have a ‘pan-Asian’ rhyme: ‘Chinese, Japanese, dirty-knees...’ The assumption that you can lump the food of all yellow-skinned people together is about as intelligent as that rhyme.
MrO: Except that the concept works very well here. I shall recite your little rhyme next time I visit Cocoon.
Mr Oil and Mr Vinegar consumed four starters, two main courses and two puddings each, washed down with two vodka-and-tonics, two glasses of wine, a large bottle of chilled dry sake and two cups of coffee, at a total cost of about £210 (the sake, at £62, was by far the most expensive item).
Cocoon
65 Regent Street (entrance in Air Street),
London, W1B 4EA
+44 (0) 207 494 7600
www.cocoon-restaurants.com
reservations@cocoon-restaurants.com
MrV: I must say my heart sank when I walked in. Didn’t it used to be l’Odeon? I never liked that place much.
MrO: Your prejudice was obvious. I thought initially that your mind was irretrievably set.
MrV: Those ridiculous bucket chairs didn't help. They look like rejects from an episode of The Jetsons [for younger readers, a 1960s cartoon about the space age]. For a restaurant that's only been open a short while it’s hard to imagine how their chairs got in such bad condition. Perhaps they got them second hand. And they are designed more for lounging than sitting at a table.
MrO: I suspect that having low chairs has something to do with the height of the ceiling. Chairs of normal height might make the room feel a bit claustrophobic. But, apart from the reservations about the furnishings, I thought this was a truly excellent restaurant.
MrV: Steady on...
MrO: No, I mean it. It’s rare to come across such flawless food and service in one place. And if the surroundings aren't perfect then that's a small price for near-perfection in the rest of the offering.
MrV: I acknowledge that we had quite wonderful service but there was hardly anybody else there.
MrO: True, but I find that it tends to be easier to get good service in a busy restaurant than in an empty one. A bit like that saying: if you want something done ask a busy man. But what about the food? It was in every respect superb.
MrV: Yes, from the first taste of the first course my opinion of the place changed.
MrO: It was a good idea to have two starters each as well as a main course. The sesame king prawn toast balls were fabulous, although tricky to eat with chop sticks because they were so big. You have to spear them in order to take bites rather than shove the whole thing in at once...
MrV: ...like an American.
MrO: I also thought the Guangzhou pork & radish dumplings exquisite. And so were the sushi rolls.
MrV: I like to think I know my stuff when it comes to beef rendang, and that was as good as any I’ve come across.
MrO: My steamed sea bass was cooked perfectly, although perhaps it was not quite as interesting as some of the other things on the menu.
MrV: My favourite was the pudding. Poached pears can be dull but that was spectacular. The salted caramel ice cream and caramel pear puree around the pear were magnificent.
MrO: I think it gets my award for pudding of the year...so far. I’m feeling a little concerned that you are being so nice about Cocoon. Apart from the chairs, can’t you think of anything to criticise?
MrV: Well, my hackles go up a little when I hear that a restaurant describes itself as ‘pan-Asian’. What on earth is it supposed to mean? When I was a child we used to have a ‘pan-Asian’ rhyme: ‘Chinese, Japanese, dirty-knees...’ The assumption that you can lump the food of all yellow-skinned people together is about as intelligent as that rhyme.
MrO: Except that the concept works very well here. I shall recite your little rhyme next time I visit Cocoon.
Mr Oil and Mr Vinegar consumed four starters, two main courses and two puddings each, washed down with two vodka-and-tonics, two glasses of wine, a large bottle of chilled dry sake and two cups of coffee, at a total cost of about £210 (the sake, at £62, was by far the most expensive item).
Cocoon
65 Regent Street (entrance in Air Street),
London, W1B 4EA
+44 (0) 207 494 7600
www.cocoon-restaurants.com
reservations@cocoon-restaurants.com
Tuesday, February 9, 2010
El Vino, Fleet Street
Mr Oil and Mr Vinegar have returned to an old watering hole, seldom visited now: the famous El Vino in Fleet Street. Their nostalgia is tempered by changes in their surroundings...
MrO: I didn’t think it had changed much.
MrV: Not changed? Are you mad? The place was completely different.
MrO: The decor is exactly as it’s always been. They have the paint specially mixed to look like tobacco stain. They even have the same chairs in the back bar, polished by decades of fat lawyers’ bottoms.
MrV: Yes but there are bar stools in the front bar, and people not wearing jackets or ties, and the foreigners go completely unchastised, and I think I saw a television. Horribly common. I liked it when all they offered you to eat at the bar was a giant sausage. Now it looks like an Italian sandwich bar up there.
MrO: That’s progress, I’m afraid. The bar stools do get in the way when it’s busy but when it’s quiet I quite like to perch on one while I read the paper.
MrV: That’s precisely the sort of attitude that wasn’t tolerated in the old days. It was fun when they used to chuck women out for being improperly dressed. There was that big court case with those leftie harridans complaining about having to look presentable and not clutter up the bar space with their handbags.
MrO: Those weren’t exactly the grounds on which the legal action was taken. It was quite a cause célèbre, though.
MrV: Do you remember David the manager? He used to love coming round the bar to tell some foreigner or half-dressed fool to leave.
MrO: Quite often they were happy to go as they’d been verbally assaulted by Bruce Kinlock of the Daily Telegraph. He particularly liked to pick on Germans. As soon as they came through the door, Bruce demanded to know what they did in the war. It quite rattled them.
MrV: Good old Bruce. He was the old school of journalist regular at El Vino – rude to everyone and occasionally dangerous.
MrO: Setting light to people’s ties used to upset them a great deal, but he was always very generous with the champagne. He very seldom lunched there, though.
MrV: He had more sense than we did.
MrO: Not entirely fair on the El Vino kitchen, although I admit that there were one or two dishes which seemed permanently to elude the capabilities of the chef. The steak and chips was always reliable.
MrV: The most exciting thing I ever saw the chef cook was himself and the owner, Anthony Mitchell.
MrO: That was terrifying. The poor chef had just lost his father and wasn’t concentrating. I thought that pan fire was going to kill us all.
MrV: Quite impressive of Mitchell to step into the middle of it and cover the pan. He was horribly blistered afterwards.
MrO: Yes but he still came round and offered us a free glass of port to compensate for the inconvenience.
MrV: Not to mention the pong. Those were the days. I felt the steak was rather better in those days, too. This time, mine was tasty enough but a bit on the chewy side. The smoked salmon starter was alright though.
MrO: Smoked salmon followed by steak is a pretty reliable combination there. But most of all I like the wine prices.
MrV: That Chateau de Respide was so reasonable I didn’t bother noting how much we paid for it.
MrO: Nor did I but they sell it for £9.95 in the off-sales department, so it won’t be too much more than that in the restaurant.
MrV: That’s the main attraction, now, isn’t it – the cheap booze. It used to be the people but nobody one knows ever goes there anymore.
Mr Oil and Mr Vinegar consumed a plate of smoked salmon each, a serving of steak and chips each, some cheese and so much wine that they cannot recall how much it cost, but feel it would have been about £70 per head.
El Vino
47 Fleet Street
London EC4Y 1BJ
+44 (0) 207 353 6786
www.elvino.co.uk
MrO: I didn’t think it had changed much.
MrV: Not changed? Are you mad? The place was completely different.
MrO: The decor is exactly as it’s always been. They have the paint specially mixed to look like tobacco stain. They even have the same chairs in the back bar, polished by decades of fat lawyers’ bottoms.
MrV: Yes but there are bar stools in the front bar, and people not wearing jackets or ties, and the foreigners go completely unchastised, and I think I saw a television. Horribly common. I liked it when all they offered you to eat at the bar was a giant sausage. Now it looks like an Italian sandwich bar up there.
MrO: That’s progress, I’m afraid. The bar stools do get in the way when it’s busy but when it’s quiet I quite like to perch on one while I read the paper.
MrV: That’s precisely the sort of attitude that wasn’t tolerated in the old days. It was fun when they used to chuck women out for being improperly dressed. There was that big court case with those leftie harridans complaining about having to look presentable and not clutter up the bar space with their handbags.
MrO: Those weren’t exactly the grounds on which the legal action was taken. It was quite a cause célèbre, though.
MrV: Do you remember David the manager? He used to love coming round the bar to tell some foreigner or half-dressed fool to leave.
MrO: Quite often they were happy to go as they’d been verbally assaulted by Bruce Kinlock of the Daily Telegraph. He particularly liked to pick on Germans. As soon as they came through the door, Bruce demanded to know what they did in the war. It quite rattled them.
MrV: Good old Bruce. He was the old school of journalist regular at El Vino – rude to everyone and occasionally dangerous.
MrO: Setting light to people’s ties used to upset them a great deal, but he was always very generous with the champagne. He very seldom lunched there, though.
MrV: He had more sense than we did.
MrO: Not entirely fair on the El Vino kitchen, although I admit that there were one or two dishes which seemed permanently to elude the capabilities of the chef. The steak and chips was always reliable.
MrV: The most exciting thing I ever saw the chef cook was himself and the owner, Anthony Mitchell.
MrO: That was terrifying. The poor chef had just lost his father and wasn’t concentrating. I thought that pan fire was going to kill us all.
MrV: Quite impressive of Mitchell to step into the middle of it and cover the pan. He was horribly blistered afterwards.
MrO: Yes but he still came round and offered us a free glass of port to compensate for the inconvenience.
MrV: Not to mention the pong. Those were the days. I felt the steak was rather better in those days, too. This time, mine was tasty enough but a bit on the chewy side. The smoked salmon starter was alright though.
MrO: Smoked salmon followed by steak is a pretty reliable combination there. But most of all I like the wine prices.
MrV: That Chateau de Respide was so reasonable I didn’t bother noting how much we paid for it.
MrO: Nor did I but they sell it for £9.95 in the off-sales department, so it won’t be too much more than that in the restaurant.
MrV: That’s the main attraction, now, isn’t it – the cheap booze. It used to be the people but nobody one knows ever goes there anymore.
Mr Oil and Mr Vinegar consumed a plate of smoked salmon each, a serving of steak and chips each, some cheese and so much wine that they cannot recall how much it cost, but feel it would have been about £70 per head.
El Vino
47 Fleet Street
London EC4Y 1BJ
+44 (0) 207 353 6786
www.elvino.co.uk
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