Restaurant review: Polpetto, Soho

This is the year that Russell Normal jumped onto the television screens as the entertaining and fair Restaurant Man. The man all-seeing and all-knowing at the heart of his growing restaurant empire. He could quote how high (to the tape-measured centimetre) every bar was, the distance between each chair and the serial numbers of the light bulbs. He exposed the flaws and naiveties in budding restaurateurs (sic) who looked to make a quick fortune in hospitality having never washed a glass or served a plate in their lives. His likable modesty and calm temperament came as a refreshing change to previous ‘fix the business’ franchises; miles away from those furrowed Ramsay outrages. But in doing this he has put himself on a platform. Upon visiting his establishments you now see the calculations. You can imagine Norman pacing the space in his furred parka, advising his decorating team to stain underneath the wall lamps and talking up the merits of silver cutlery. In somewhere like Polpetto, all intimate with pleasingly mismatched furniture, dim lighting and rustically stripped back walls, the romance is slightly overshadowed by knowledge of the whirring business cogs that lay behind it. 

If the expectations raised by the owners profile weren’t enough, the rest was achieved by the restaurant itself. I can’t remember anywhere drumming up as much anticipation followed by such universal praise for a very long time. Top marks from newspapers and a twitter meltdown duly followed. We were excited as we approached on a sunny Tuesday afternoon, with the heady expectation of a damn good feed. The problem with a no-reservation policy is that nightmare of being stuck in an endless snaking queue, but as is often the case, you can sneak in easily enough around peak times. The place was dead in that no-mans-land period between lunch and dinner, but the small space still felt intimate and romantic despite the absence of fellow diners. We loved the silver, mismatched furniture and wall lamps. The menu listed very well. 

The day had been hot, very hot, and Soho had been sweating from every pore. Polpetto instantly had us dancing in the palm of its hand at the mere mention of a rhubarb bellini and an Earl Grey iced tea. We were then taken on holiday with an orb of creamy burrata, with sharp and spicy samphire and chilli interrupting only lovingly. Much like at sister-restaurant Polpo last summer, I was impressed that for somewhere so connected with terms ‘small plates’ and ‘tapas’, the portioning was bang on. Tender little chicken oysters swam in an unctuous bowl of gravy and cannellini beans, and we wished that the melting beef shin strozzapreti would never end. Where the food had missed the point at my recent visit to Mayfields, here Florence Knight and her brigade had well and truly lived up to the hype. 

But much like an episode of the Restaurant Man, when things were going swimmingly, you were still never far away from some drama. At some point around our main course, our peaceful surroundings were shattered by what can only be described as a chef having a meltdown. A screaming tantrum, quite impressively, came banging through a closed door and up a flight of stairs from the kitchen to our table. A flurry of worried and nervous looking waiting staff ran past. I can’t say whether the unseen woman having a hissy fit was indeed Knight, or whether they had a valid point or not, but whoever it was, it was rather embarrassing, and an awkward moment to be part of. If this had been part of his show, you could almost picture Norman outside talking into a camera, blasting this unprofessional tirade. Thankfully there were a mere handful of tables to experience this ‘entertainment’, but that’s hardly the point really. 

Things sweetened up by the time puddings were delivered, thankfully devoid of any blood or broken bone. I feel that it’s hugely unfair to put something called ‘fried pecorino and honey’ on a menu, as however good everything else looks, there’s only one thing that I’m going to order. This is something that I’d seen and read about beforehand, and to say that I was excited would have been an understatement. But I have to say that I ended up a little disappointed. Don’t get me wrong, I don’t think that melting cheese and honey can ever be a bad thing, but I half-expected more. The cheese had lost any defining flavour, the batter was on the thick and chewier side of crisp and it needed a good hit of something salty to combat the honey. It certainly all got wolfed down though. As did Katie’s panna cotta, which was as light as a feather and full of summer fragrance. 

For fantastic food in a relaxing and well-created environment, Norman has yet again nailed it. We left with full and happy bellies and I would return in a flash. A few let downs were there; dreadfully inattentive service in an empty restaurant and a kitchen outrage to remember are a little disappointing but hardly unforgivable. And I must say, that little Virginia Wolf quote at the foot of the bill came across slightly arrogant and cheaply unnecessary. But we had indeed eaten well, and for that alone Polpetto was a triumph.

Restaurant review: The Social Eating House, Soho

Lunch service can be the best way to sample the food at top restaurants without having to pay an arm and a leg. Set menus sometimes have the reputation of dragging up the scrag ends of the kitchen, but in the better restaurants you can get amazing value for money. This was recently highlighted by seasoned blogger The Critical Couple, who compiled a review of seven places offering special lunch deals. It showed a mixed bag of results, but by far the restaurant that jumped out at me was The Social Eating House. This is Jason Atherton’s new venture in Soho after rave reviews for the Pollen Street Social and Little Social in Mayfair. I have long been a fan of Atherton’s cooking and attitude to food, but the really striking thing was the value for money. I needed little encouragement as it was, but at £21.00 for three courses it looked an absolute bargain. You could spend more than that in Cafe Rouge. Venue set, and a Saturday lunch date was booked. 

The day of the lunch was one of those sultry dreamy types just perfect for strolling around in town. Soho was crammed and buzzy with tourists, and the seediness had a few hours left before leaking out. The name Social Eating House implied an informality, yet we still didn’t quite know what to expect. The restaurant was about half full yet the small space still had a bustle about it and was welcoming, and interesting with the mirrored ceiling modern distressed walls. What was also noticeable was the total cross-section of diners. They were all there; Made In Chelsea in one corner, lad’s lunch over there, poshy date on the next table and the obligatory couple who hate each other at the end. She spent the whole meal on the phone. The man with the backwards cap and sunglasses meant that any notion of being underdressed was quickly dispelled.

Our waiter was kind, despite us feeling apprehensive about being the cheapskates ordering the set lunch and tap water. As is often the case, a glass of prosecco in and the nerves set to relax. Set menus in their very nature don’t offer much choice, but despite the few options it took some time to decide on our order. None of the items were what we would normally pick, with ox tongue, stone bass and lamb breast all billed. But I feel like these kind of restaurants are the places to jump out of comfort zones and try something new, so was excited to educate my palate. 

Jay Rayner and The Critical Couple both recommended the starting jars, in particular the salt cod brandade with parsley sauce and thick salt and vinegar crisps. The jar was just that, a jar, and in it again something I never tried before. But after a scoop of the smooth fish and herb sauce we were instant converts. The flavours were balanced perfectly, with the subtle cod standing up to the garnishes. There was just enough too, leaving a lovely taste yet enough room with three more courses to go. 

A beautiful plate of tongue. A sentence that I never thought I would write, yet what was put in front of me was just that. A thin slither topped with delicate pickled mushrooms, crouton and a sticky onion puree danced together and was visually stunning. Despite this I still managed to have food envy, as Katie’s starter was incredible. Pea, mint and ham soup - a trip back to the 80’s surely? Not in this case. A delicately poached hens egg sat daintily in the bottom of the bowl, surrounded by crushed peas and topped with shards of brittle, salty ham. The silky yet intense pea veloute was poured around and was just spectacular. This was no thick and clumsy soup, it was delicate, each taste pinging in your mouth. That one little bowl will remain in our minds for quite some time, and will always trump my homemade favourite.

The mains had a lot to live up to. Again my stone bass was stunning, and possibly the best way that I have seen cous cous presented. It was a true summer lunch dish; perfectly cooked fish, ripe tomatoes and pepper. It didn’t make the world move as much as the starters, but was delicious. Katie’s lamb breast with nicoise garnish fell apart at the mere suggestion of a fork and was rich and flavoursome. It is such an underrated cut of meat and certainly inspired me to give it a go at home. Two courses, and the best part of a bottle of prosecco down and we were (drunk) happy bunnies.

The dessert options caused me a few issues. I have a complicated nut allergy, meaning that some nuts are fine, but others are not so good. In the past I have been rather blase about it, but after a slight scare following my meal at Polpo the week before I thought it best to ask our waiter. In describing my needs I managed to confuse the poor man, but eventually it was determined that none of the options on the set menu were suitable. Instead I was kindly offered to select one from the a la carte menu, which I was extremely grateful for. That said, I was also jealous at the sound of Katie’s coconut and chocolate dessert which sounded divine. 

It looked it too, quenelles of sorbet, aerated chocolate and a translucent tuile were swiftly demolished without the slightest taste from me. However, this time it was my turn to be dealt the memorable dish. My jar, yes another jar, of homemade yoghurt topped with strawberries cooked a number of different ways was frankly incredible. Granita, sorbet, poached and jellied all gave a different sensation. The sheer amount of strawberry flavour that the chef had managed to extract was ridiculous. I’m not normally a dessert person, but I would happily eat that again and again, and would return just for that. 

The table next to us had managed to consume an impressive amount of cocktails during their meal, each one housed in a different ornate or intriguing glass. So we though it rude to not have one before our departure. The drinks menu had fun, if not slightly cringe-worthy names, and it felt slightly embarrassing to ask for two ‘dill or no dills’, but they lived up to their appearance and were seriously good. Often cocktails can seem too sharp or alcohol heavy, but these were a joy to drink. 

We stumbled out into the busy hazy Soho Streets with that funny amazement that you get when leaving the cinema and discovering that it is still light outside. But we were also amazed at the food we had just eaten, especially considering the value. The skill of the chef is to use humble ingredients and make them sing, and this had been a masterclass. Simple pea soup, old-fashioned tongue and forgotten pieces of lamb all the polar opposite. Certainly another astounding success in the making for the Jason Atherton team, and I look forward to visiting his other restaurants for food that good.

Restaurant review: Honest Burgers, Soho

Gourmet fast food has become really trendy over the last couple of years. Barely a week goes by without Twitter buzzing about a new burger, hot dog or fried chicken joint opening in central London. Everyone loves a burger, but the best thing about these new ventures is the care taken in preparation and the sourcing of ingredients. No longer does late night convenience food mean a dirty burger with dodgy mystery ingredients, these places are now using good quality meat, artisan breads and independently brewed booze. Good times all round! 

I don’t venture into central London too often, so it has taken me a little while to get around to seeing what all the fuss has been about. However, I recently was out in the West End to see a show, and thought that it would also be the perfect opportunity to grab a late night bite. Funnily enough, I managed to accidently get my hands on a quick bratwurst before the show had even started! Stumbling past Herman Ze German whilst looking for a quick early pint, I just had to pop in and grab one. It was just amazing. Nothing new or revolutionary about it, but every element was just really well executed. It was great to see that the meat came from master butchers The Ginger Pig too. Bun, sausage, mustard and joy. I feel sorry for Katie though, who had to put up with me raving about how bratwursts were the future of fast food for the following twenty minutes... It was early though, so I was still thinking about how I satisfy my stomach for when the hunger came around later on. I needed recommendations, so it was time to get onto Twitter and find out where the best burger lay.

Show over and there were tens of replies to my tweet, with most of them saying that we just had to visit Honest Burgers. It was as easy as that, and so we set off through Covent Garden and into Soho full of great expectations. The only problem was that it was getting late, and arriving 15 minutes before close, we were painfully aware that we going to be those annoying customers and worried that we would even get fed. These nerves were totally unfounded though, and we were welcomed in by the friendly staff as soon as we opened the door. 

Despite the time, the intimate space was still bustling. The menu was short and the prices reasonable, with a burger and chips coming in at well under a tenner. So refreshing when most other places cram in the add-ons for those wonderful “how did the bill come to that, I’ve been fleeced” moments. The food came quickly and everything was just right. Honest burgers is exactly what they were; perfectly sized, well cooked and more importantly, tasty.   The Ginger Pig must be doing a roaring trade in town, as their beef had also crept into these tender patties. It’s exciting that people are caring more and more about what is behind the burgers, and the quality shines through in the taste. 

My only complaints were slight and mostly down to my own weird ways. I have a slightly unhealthy love of gherkins, and they are an important part of a burger experience for me, so I was disappointed by the lack of pickle presence. I fully accept that this isn’t a feasible gripe though, but my other issue was a little more pressing. You cannot serve up a bucket of unseasoned chips and not have salt on the table. Crunching through well cooked yet bland chips wondering “what if” is the most frustrating thing ever. Step in the great staff again, who happily offered some of their delicious rosemary salt when I brought it up. Burgers eaten and another surprise, we were content and comfortable. Too often you leave a diner stuffed to explode, but it this case they had judged it bang on. 

We left way after the doors shut and didn’t feel pressured one bit. We eat a lot of burgers,, and these were some of the best. It’s brilliant that fast food is no longer a drunken afterthought, and I’m already finding excuses to eat some more.