I recently wrote a guest post on the state of food in the UK for Tablet Talk, the blog of Tablet Hotels. If you’d like to check it out, here is the link.

Really interesting article on the current state of London’s higher-end restaurant scene:

Bankers Start Feasting Again at London Eateries, Chefs Say

…and in case you were wondering, yes, yes it’s been me that’s been driving most of this demand. I am truly a Fat-but-charitable-Banker

We were young and in love and we were in Amsterdam being liberal. Strenuous business it is, being liberal in Amsterdam, but we managed it for whole swathes of the weekend as you might imagine – even the pumping Gloria Gaynor penetrating the walls of Anne Frank house couldn’t dampen our ardour for relaxation.

Good hotel location, placed, as we were, on Prinsengracht in the tardis-like Pulitizer. Long a favourite city for agenda-less strolling, pausing on bridges and ambling along canal banks. Definitely best approached by nibbling, both literally and metaphorically, the best bits around its edges. At lunch we escaped the heat of the day into the coolness of Envy. Darkly modern décor and a hotch-potch of contemporary dishes on the menu. One delicious rabbit salad, one over-salted cabbage and pea soup; bread to die for and a cheese selection that looked the same. Although, I’m not sure this restaurant knows what it wants to be at all…

Much, much later that night, and via a meal elsewhere, we returned to visit Envy’s sister next door, Vyne (see what they’ve done there). Great concept, fantastically executed, it was hard to fathom why this place was not rammed full of the beautiful people (apart from us, of course).

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Restaurant Sophia, location of our earlier evening meal, was a 15 minute taxi ride out from the centre of the city. Relying on the trusty European Cities Michelin guide to find us somewhere off the beaten track was a good choice. Always nice to get out of the hubbub of a city centre and experience a local’s favourite, Sophia drips the sort of urban chic one might find in the nicer quarters of London’s Notting Hill. Sleek modern design is softened with bare-brick and rich fabrics; a large covered outside terrace provides the perfect evening setting, although the view isn’t the best.

The menu was eclectic, teetering between haute and modern European, with an asian influence. Presentation was borderline molecular and adopted the popular lots-of-smaller-dishes-so-you-can-try-lots-we’ll-call-it-tapas style. An amuse of gazpacho shots and wasabi-dressed watermelon did the job on the tastebuds.

A nice touch was the ‘Sophia Experience’ 5 course tasting menu, reasonably priced at €42.50, which comes with a ‘surprise’ menu presented in a silver sealed envelope. This started promisingly with very fresh, light marinated salmon, followed by a rich but interesting combination of lobster and Moroccan spices, served in a ‘brique’.

The gorgeous fiancée started with some oysters decorated with funky green Tobiko. Pretty unremarkable apart from the colour.

The tasting menu stumbled from its early heights via some slightly faulty execution. The potato fan that came with the halibut was beautiful, but the fish was over-cooked. While the farm chicken was very tasty, the application of the cream sauce was somewhat heavy-handed. Finally, to experience the last dish of the menu would require a €7.50 supplement, meaning the 5 course menu is not really 5 courses at all!

I think, in general, we would return for the atmosphere and style of the place. I’d also probably recommend to friends who had been to Amsterdam once or twice before and fancied something new. The food has ambition, but execution falls short. The staff were lovely and helpful (esp. to non-Dutch speakers) and were liberal with their wine, letting us taste before choosing. Liberal wine, liberal weekend.

“FatBanker went to bank, went to bank abroad…

Last month business took me to Toronto for a few days banking. Whilst merrily relieving Canadian grannies of their savings, encouraging irresponsible lending, stealing kid’s balloons and generally causing global turmoil – all in a morning’s work us evil bankers, surely? – I built up one heck of a hunger. An exploration of the city’s culinary highlights was in order.

Knowing nothing of the city’s restaurant scene in advance was a refreshing experience (imagine approaching a dinner in London knowing nothing of the legacy of Ramsay, Pierre-White et al). First port of call? Google, Toronto Life and a selection of the active Canadian food blogs.

Whilst perusing various reviews, one name that kept cropping up was that of Chef David Lee, and his two restaurant interests, Splendido and the new Nota Bene. Delving further into the stories and rumours surrounding these two city restaurants it was apparent that Lee (and co-owner Yannick Bigourdan) had taken Splendido to the top of the Toronto culinary tree over the previous 8 years, but were now moving on to concentrate on Nota Bene.

Despite the kind words from both sides, the chatter on the blogs fueled my imagination in casting Lee as the errant husband in this divorce, moving on to pastures new, whilst Splendido, the spurned lover, is left behind to wonder what she did wrong. Indulging the metaphor a little longer, it seemed an apt response on Splendido’s part to tout an eight course tasting menu of Lee’s ‘greatest hits’ – very much the jilted wife flagrantly flaunting the keys to her ex’s most beloved sports car! My dining decision was made.

I can think of only one or two occasions when I’ve eaten properly alone (like, the full on restaurant sit down and order-for-one experience) but I actually quite enjoy it. As a single diner you keep the restaurant on its toes – is he a critic? has he been stood up? Or is he just a fat, greedy, banker looking to gorge himself silly? In addition, whilst I might be mediocre dining company for others, I’m exceptionally good company for myself, so it was in a good frame of mind that I plonked myself at the bar and ordered a Vodka Martini prior to my sitting (aside: am trying to develop as taste for this very ‘grown-up’ drink after being shown how to make them properly on our recent masterclass at Trinity but I still prefer V&T).

Greediness was confirmed with the arrival some short-lived amuse-bouche (the one, dark, photo of which can be found here before I gave up with the camera…that’ll be the martini then…). I have to confess that a tiny nasty dark little parochial part of my warped mind actually wanted the food here to somewhat provincial and lagging that of the top London eateries. After all, Toronto? Canada? No exactly front of the gastro-revolution is it?

I’m happy to say that any foolish delusions in this direction were quickly dismissed; a truffle and Jerusalem artichoke cream tartlet presented the richness of the truffles beautifully whilst retaining a remarkably delicate cream; topped with a light full-taste parmesan-crisp. Heirloom beats with a fine balsamic dressing completed the amuse.

The body of the restaurant itself was a rich warm space with gorgeous deep rosewood floors inlaid with playful golden stars. From my seat I had a sweeping view of the room, a mixture of special occasions and midweek business diners all bathed in a soft glow from the, frankly, beautiful crystal chandeliers.

Even though the tasting menu was a cheffy mish-mash – the dishes being Lee’s, while the execution Victor Barry’s – this was really of little consequence. Some of the dishes from the tasting menu felt a little lost (I’m thinking the pulled pork here in particular, presented as a Mediterranean dish) the overall standard of cooking was equal to the upper end of that from London. Standout dishes on the night (the menu served the while I was there was slightly different to that in the link above) were the Poached Lobster and the Wagu with Sturgeon caviar, the latter a dish displaying the best of impeccable ingredients.

Actually, fantastic ingredients were a feature of the evening. The best dishes were those actually presented in addition to the tasting menu (strike one for them thinking I was critic perhaps!), which included a platter of Duck Prosciutto and, something I’d never had before, Guanciale (cured pig’s cheek/jowl) which was unfathomably-melt-in-the-mouth-good.

The surprise of my evening came with another ‘off-menu’ dish. Entirely unexpected I was served a portion of breaded veal brain with a sauce gribiche. Having never eaten brain (knowingly…I mean, c’mon, I ate supermarket burgers as a kid so probably downed a fair amount of brain) I was a little wary, but threw CJD fears out of the window. Actually, the brain was tender, soft and had a delicate flavour. I was fine with it until I started thinking about it more than I should have, and then had to leave half.

(as another aside, isn’t it funny how sometimes in life you have instances where you come across something that you haven’t had any previously dealings with (it can be anything: a word, an person, a name, whatever) and then having had one chance encounter with it, suddenly another one, or multiple ones appear?!? Same happened to me with the sauce gribiche that was served with the veal brain. I’d never heard of it before I read a recipe on Orangette the other day, and then all of a sudden I’m encountering it again. Sitting on a plate next to my brain, as it were. Anyway, I digress….)

The meal was accompanied by two glasses of wine chosen with the sommelier’s help (although I have to admit the Canadian white went back and was replaced free of charge) and the service was excellent throughout the evening. Although, from what I read, there are other places I would like to try before returning (inc. Nota Bene) I would be keen to return and see how Carlo Catallo and Victor Barry impose their stamp on this institution.

(James Ellroy-esque brevity has absolutely nothing to do with a lack of creativity on my part…nothing at all)

Ate here last night. Slick. Manhattan-cum-Farringdon vibe. Couple of glasses of champagne (£7 a pop) to limber up. Warm bread brought to table. Good.

Pleasant meal form the 2-course set menu (£13.50). Seared beef salad starter. Nice horseradish mouse. Pan-fried sea bream main for the TheFatBanker. Nice capers with the fish. Slathered in olive oil though.

My gorgeous date (henceforth known as my gorgeous fiancée!!) had crayfish salad starter, followed by pan-fried mackerel main. Mackerel won the day; gazpacho-soaked croutons were the highlight.

Nice casual place to see and be seen. Hyper-friendly staff. Would recommend to friends meeting to catch up over some food. Should see more gastro-excitement here tonight…

Decided to add some comments this month…

1. Marcus Wareing: remains the most complete dining experience I’ve had
2. Trinity: this lovely restaurant gets better and better with time – high quality cooking at very reasonable prices in a chic setting – wonderful to have as part of the neighborhood – now hosting masterclasses too
3. Per Se: I’ve thought a great deal about the dinner we had here (the meal was back at Easter and I’m yet to post my blog on it) and my view of it has changed over this time for the better; the best service we’ve expereinced anywhere
4. The Fat Duck: impossible to not thoroughly enjoy a visit here; well documented as one of the very best
5. The Square: class, a little formal to do regularly, but too good to overlook. One of London’s very best.
6. Tom Aikens: raw, powerful cooking; my main of Roe Deer looked like a stunning piece of fresh road kill and will stay with me for a long time
7. Galvin at Windows: very good cooking, very cool surroundings; makes you (and your guests) feel very special
8. The Glasshouse: great cooking, super for lunch on a lazy weekend afternoon
9. Les Trois Garcons: if you live in London, go. Best for a snug Autumn/Winter evening
10. Vinoteca: ok so it’s a ‘wine shop’ but I love the whole set-up here

Should location count in one’s appraisal of a restaurant? The purist* in me wants to say: hell no fool! Just gimme the low down on whether the kitchen and front of house can rock my world, sod the location! Unfortunately, experience (or lack of it) leads me to believe that it’s pretty hard (for me at least) to separate a restaurant’s location from general enjoyment of the place.

Chez Bruce, The Glasshouse, Galvin at Windows; each are obvious examples of London restaurants that are complemented by their location and surroundings. Whether this actually makes these restaurants better than they would be otherwise is a moot point in my mind, as that should come down to food/service/ambience.

But consider the location question from the angle of a professional restaurant critic: which road-weary Michelin inspector is not going to be swayed in his or her review by the charming little station parade at Kew, or the green expanse of park awaiting an after lunch stroll on Wandsworth common? If location can influence in this respect and restaurant with a Michelin-focus should choose its location with great care. This makes the contrasts embodied in Morgan M all the more of an enigma.

The first time we visited this restaurant in July ‘08 I came away struck by what I took at the time to be its obvious vaulting ambition; something that surprised me given its location. A very French, formal and hushed service delivers from the kitchen beautiful, clever, dishes complete with requisite foams, towers, gels. Haute-cuisine done to a very good standard and with a tasting menu that sits behind only Trinity in its value to quality ratio. The only thing holding it back was a lack of atmosphere in the dining room, which was compounded by the slightly stiff waiting staff. Here was a restaurant, I thought (in all my aged wisdom!), reaching for (the) stars.

Coming away from our second visit (not quite enough visits for the-food-blog-restaurant-review-police, sorry) I was no longer convinced I was right before about there being a desire for (Michelin?) recognition running through the core of this restaurant. With a slightly later sitting this time (and a little more ‘buzz’ in the dining room as a result), we experienced a delightful tasting menu designed as a Bordeaux Wine Tasting evening (menu).

While maybe one of the dishes lacked a little something** the rest of the menu was delicious (the Duck with Onion Soubise in particular) and, again, incredibly well presented. My knowledge doesn’t extend to be able to comment correctly on the technical side of the cooking but to my untrained eye, the dishes appeared well executed. More to the point though, the whole experience (including the wine-tasting concept) felt like a restaurant (and chef?) that was taking itself slightly less seriously than before and having a little more fun. Maybe the ambition is simply to produce top-drawer food coupled with classical service and the desire for recognition (stars?) doesn’t feature. It would certainly explain the choice of location…

*actually, the purist in me wants to vomit at the fact that I just wrote the words “one’s appraisal”

**I’m thinking of the Ballontine of Foie Gras in particular – why does this ingredient always have appear on every tasting menu?? – which, whilst accompanied by a lovely Brioche, was unremarkable. Having said this, the maitre d’ was very accommodating in replacing my gorgeous date’s Foie Gras with an alternative tuna dish and took the time to find a decent replacement wine to go with it to boot.

Hotels and sex.

They go together like hand in glove, peas in a pod. No matter where you travel in the world the two are intimately linked. Hotels tend to operate with a faux innocence of knowing ‘nod-and-wink’ discretion, where no-questions-asked yields least embarrassment for all. Such an approach fosters in many establishments an embassy-like feeling of detachment from the real world where subsequently, anything goes; you only have to look around the cocktail bar of an upmarket London hotel to understand what I mean. When pitched against a fluid cast of constantly changing residents it can lead to a charged atmosphere.

Despite this association, some sophisticated hotels are just plain sexy. They make you feel special. They don’t need dubious comings and goings from their guests to add frisson and excitement to a stay. James Bond lives in these hotels, rock stars become room-wrecking legends in these hotels. Whether it’s sleek dark-wood design or old-school OTT refinement, their luxuriousness and depth of service lifts you out of your everyday existence and makes it possible to indulge in fantasies of your own making. Sexy hotels empower everyone in this way. Other hotels are sexy in a seedy, by-the-hour, way. I tend not to stay in such places, so I can’t really say much about them.

All of this was flying around my head as I reclined in the lobby of Claridge’s, London, waiting for my gorgeous date to return from the powder room after we had taken a particularly long and liquid(ish) lunch at Gordon Ramsay. Watching another huge business man squire his pneumatic date (or daughter, I couldn’t decide) across the ornate lobby I got to thinking about the sexiness of the meal and restaurant we’d just experienced. I concluded that, in sexiness terms at least, the experience was the dining equivalent of driving to a classic Lake District beauty spot to admire the view, only to find the car park you’d chosen was hosting the annual Cumbrian dogging championships (for those of you who might be unsure, I would classify that as decidedly un-sexy).

Passing through the glorious Claridge’s foyer, already replete with afternoon-tea’rs, we entered the dining room and were shown to our well-positioned table. The art-deco refinement of the room was tainted by the very apparent over-crowding of diners and tables. Even at our 14:15 sitting the room was full-to-bursting and although this benefitted the atmosphere in terms of ‘buzz’, it created a canteen-like feel, which somewhat dampened my anticipations of ’special-ness’. In sexiness terms, it was a bit like trying to get down to it with your grandparents in the room next door. It’s not that I mind other diners being in the same restaurant as me when I eat, I’d just rather not be forced to hear about Aunt Mildred’s lastest bunion operation from the next table while I do so. However, the claustrophobia was eased by the charming company of my date and the sterling service of the staff who didn’t try to rush us at all despite the crush of numbers. And some champagne. And a bottle of Reisling.

Despite the ardour dampening set-up of what should essentially be a beautiful room, the food itself was relatively sassy; at least as sexy as is appropriate at lunch time; kind of Helen Mirren sexy – a professional surface sexiness which, when pushed, would probably rather curl up with a cup of Ovaltine than get the whips out.

He’s been going through a lot recently but I admire Ramsay for what he has achieved and the solid consistency of the dishes that spring from his restaurant’s kitchens. With Mark Sargeant at the helm here* this experience was no different. We sampled both the reasonably priced set-lunch (£30 for 3 courses) and the well constructed a la carte (£70). A small bowl of crab, coriander and crayfish linguine as starter for my gorgeous date was a delicate balance of these robust ingredients – the linguine in particular had that lovely fresh pasta ‘bite’. Fricassée of rabbit and Berkshire crayfish with wild garlic pappardelle totally helped justify my recent cravings for all things lapin; the meat slightly darker than I had experienced before, but full of lovely subtle gaminess.

Our mains highlighted the bridge in refinement between the set menu and the a la carte. Roasted sea trout with a smoked shellfish cassoulet from the set was a hearty dish, bringing a French-country feel, served, as it was, in a single casserole dish – slightly incongrous given the setting. Whist this dish was well seasoned and tasty, when served alongside the a la carte main of roasted John Dory and tiger prawns, beetroot fondant, wild mushroom persillade and thyme velouté you could see (and taste) the difference between a well-priced set dish and a cooking from a Michelin Star kitchen. The combination of the very savoury thyme and the sweet beetroot fondant worked well but not to the extreme of over-powering an excellently cooked piece of fish. Dessert was, dessert.

None of the dishes were spectacular, yet all of them were good, and sexy way in a mild way. Helen Mirren food. However, it would have had to be Jessica Alba food to pull past the problems with the set-up of the room.

What we spent: £206.99

*Our visit was on 9th May; Mark Sargeant has since left Claridge’s, leaving head chef Steve Allen to step into his shoes. Tip: several (of the numerous) tables around us indicated that they were there on a special occasion and got a kitchen tour as a result.