Restaurant review: Hawksmoor Bar, Spitalfields

Shakey Pete’s Ginger Brew is the best thing to drink in the land. That is a fact. Since first sipped, Katie and I have found numerous excuses to somehow end up walking down those side-stairs into that dark, dirtily-mirrored room to beg a check-shirted, bearded man to provide us with some. We have dragged friends along, sat them down and made them experience quite how much wonder can be contained in a heavy glass tankard. We’ve spotted copycat replicas as far away as Sydney, and we’ve tried to make it at home to impress dinner guests. It’s the most tasty, refreshing and well-balanced cocktail I have even drank. It’s dangerously drinkable, often consumed in a manner similar to that of a glass of water upon awaking with a violently dry-mouthed hangover. The only thing not going for the Shakey Pete, is that it’s shit to photograph. Dark room plus reflected light plus amateur photographer mean no piccies here. So I’ll have to describe it: it looks like someone accidently tipped a ginger slushie into a half-finished pint. Perhaps the lack of photograph was for the best. But they are the best. 

 
And the best thing when you’re getting lashed on lager-based cocktails? Oh yeah, loads of food so loaded with meatiness it’s unfair. The big slabs charred on the Josper are kept upstairs; here the menu is all burgers, ribs, pig heads and wings. Admittedly, we had visited before, and with the stiff competition of the London burger scene we were sad that to us the Hawksmoor burger didn’t quite cut it. It wasn’t bad by any stretch and everything was in the right place; good meat, soft, brioche bun, nice and pink in the middle etcetera, but it just didn’t match the decadent beauty of places such as Patty and Bun, Honest or Bleeker. As lovers of pretty much everything else Hawksmoor this was a bit of a shocker. But this reviewing stuff can be a fickle business, and it’s easy to judge too much from one attempt alone. So last time that Pete dragged us down for an ‘accidental’ Monday night date the menu was opened again.
 
As we sat there chatting though the menu I realised quite how much of a food-hypocrite I can be. Katie was considering the pig’s head poutine, and I was talking up the merits of the good old plain chip. To me, a chip covered in all sorts of shredded meat, gravy, ‘angry’ stuff always sounds great, but nearly always to the detriment of the humble bit of potato upon which they are heaped. Any effort to create that wonderful, delicate shell and fluffy middle is ruined. It may as well be mash or fried potatoes. Katie shook her head so much it nearly fell off. I feel similarly about burgers and obscure toppings. The waiter comes over; Katie opts for the cheeseburger. Good girl I think. My brain then has a minor “what are you thinking!” moment as I somehow manage to order kimchi with mine. 

 
My bog standard, unadulterated chips were beautiful little things indeed, each given the love and attention a whittler might give a prized spoon. They crunched like a brulee and were given a welcome zing when dipped into the (*separate*) lime mayonnaise. Ok, so I clearly can’t get with the soggy chip thing, but the rest of Katie’s poutine was deep in thick piggy flavour and soft, smokey meat. That I’m all over. As for the burger, thankfully my faith in Hawksmoor wizardry was restored. Despite harsh reservations, the kimchi that didn’t narrowly miss splattering my groin and stayed in the bun provided a refreshing spicy twist without overwhelming the rest. Sure, the burger didn’t have the same oozing, cheesy richness that I love from other joints, but what it did have was a more defined clarity of flavour. Too often burgers become a squidgy, indistinguishable mush, but here the patty held a rich, well-seasoned beefiness and remained the star of the show.
 
On previous trips to Hawksmoor, the meal often ended on a slightly frustrating note. Having gorged on the best part of a kilo of steak, gnawing every speck from the bones, you are then faced with a list of desserts full with custard, clotted cream, salted caramel and suet. Ordering starters and mains with eyes bigger than my stomach leads to just no more space at this point. It’s just not fair. But having had just the burger this time around I finally managed to take advantage. Clever desserts with 20 elements of frozen, quenelled and spherified stuff all over the plate are all well and good, but sometimes the old-fashioned British puddings can rival in satisfaction. I always swoon at the thought of a sticky toffee pudding and this one didn’t disappoint. It was the sort of thing that brought a smile with every mouthful. 

 
There was always the temptation for another cocktail; it’s the sort of place where you want to just sit back and while away the rest of the night. But I knew that we would be back before long. The bar at Spitalfields is always a lot of fun and a great place to hang out. And more worryingly for my waistline, I’m now looking forward to returning to devour the rest of the menu. Although it will be hard to not just sit there shovelling down sticky toffee pudding time and time again…

Restaurant review: Hill and Szrok, Broadway Market

There is little more irritating than standing in a busy no-reservations restaurant waiting for a table. Every second of the quoted 20 minutes passes in freeze frames. You have already looked around and noted precisely how many mouthfuls each diner has left until possible vacation. You have practically gambled on those two in the corner not ordering dessert and you’re slowly edging over. You hate *everyone*, especially that couple who have ordered that second bottle of wine. Then two people walk through the room and embrace the waiter. After a quick chat and a bit of pointing he comes over; “they were before you. Your table will be about 45 minutes”. 

 
We thought hard about leaving. We were perched on a tiny corner of counter and had a bottle of wine on the go, but it really felt like a bit of a piss take. Sure, these people genuinely might have been here before us. But they certainly weren’t there whilst we had been waiting and the heightened delay in sitting us down didn’t seem to support this. But it was late on a Friday night and the chance of dropping in on another local table without a similar wait was slim. This was also our second visit, and having enjoyed the first we decided to hang on. But any meal that starts with wanting to throttle the waiter is never ideal.
 
Early drama over and for the second time in two weeks we were huddled at the beautiful marble bar marvelling at what a wonderful concept the whole place was. The tiny space was thronging with people and every one of them was having a ball. Everything was simply and beautifully designed; a simple chalkboard menu, some meat-themed art and the odd bunch of garlic hung happily among the spotless white tile and marble. Plain tumblers, water bottles and cutlery in a cup completed the humble set up. I almost forgot that during daylight hours the space serves as a butcher proper; the ‘table’ moonlighting as the central platform for the evening’s high jinx would wake up in the morning as a meat slab. But the odd, unmistakable whiff of hung meat swirling around with the glorious smell of charring steak reminded me where I was. In a kind of Hannibal Lector way it was all very appetising. 

 
We returned with the full intention of trying out some of the supporting cast of the short, confident menu. But as good as the butterflied lamb or pork chop sounded, the temptation to again order something from the list of steaks just proved too strong. The wing rib that we had gorged and raved about on our initial visit was unbelievably good and we just had to try and repeat that experience. But of course any pair who had just ordered 800g of rump needed something to keep them going first. Down plonks a plate positively loaded with pork rillettes, bread and pickles. And these were good ones; smokey and well-seasoned, proof that those old frugal dishes are back on trend for a reason.
 
I’m always a mixture of inquisitive and anxious when it comes to open plan restaurants that allow diners to look into the kitchens. A kitchen that runs like a well-oiled and disciplined machine is always a joy to watch. On the flipside, I have no desire to see a chef getting a dressing down from the boss or watch a mistake being made that would normally pass by unseen and without issue in a conventional ‘behind closed doors’ kitchen. Here I had nothing to worry about. Throughout our two visits Alex Szrok was the definition of chilled. He even had time to control the music. It was all very old-school; just one man and a stove, and he nailed it. The rump that we ordered on our second visit was soft and crusty and massively beefy in all of the right places. It was funny to observe a huge hunk of bloody steak sat on a twee patterned platter, but in practice it worked wonders. All of those resting and pan juices puddled around in the bottom, combining with the wholegrain mustard into the most joyous dipping sauce for those pink slithers of meat. A couple of weeks on and my tastebuds can still remember fragments of that deeply satisfying, savoury flavour. In terms of quality and taste it was up there with the best that I’ve had in London, all at a far more humbling price. We didn’t need much to accompany the steak but again the simple approach came up with the goods. A bowl of well-dressed greens and fluffy rosemary potatoes was all that was needed. 

 
We had been annoyed to start with but by this point we had been well and truly won over. In keeping with the rest of the menu, the dessert menu was kept brief. By brief I meant one option. Cheesecake. And when a cheesecake was as tasty as that, that’s all they needed to offer.
 
Back to the concept; a butcher by day and a restaurant by night. It was like we had been invited to a lock in, someone had found a bottle of wine in the back and the butcher had decided to cook up a few choice cuts. There was a real makeshift nature, but once we sat back and embraced this and the fact that a small team had managed to create such a beautiful, bustling room of people all tucking into seriously delicious food then we realised quite how impressive it all was.

Restaurant review: Hawksmoor, Spitalfields

Last weekend saw mine and Katie’s third anniversary, and to celebrate we decided to book a table at Hawksmoor. This turned out to be quite a tricky process; did we want to go for breakfast, dinner or Sunday roast options, and which of the group’s four venues was it to be? I have only every heard glowing reports about anything Hawksmoor related, and it all looked so good! In the end we went for dinner at Spitalfields, as it was open on a Saturday night and the small, intimate nature of it looked perfect for a date night. The booking was made way back in November, and every day since I have been counting down with heightening anticipation. We so rarely go out for poshy dinners, so to say that I was excited is an understatement.

As well as the excitement was a slight sense of apprehension. Everyone that I had spoken to about Hawksmoor had raved about the place, but I really didn’t know what to expect. I mean, their meat is sourced from the excellent Ginger Pig and I imagined would be cooked to perfection, but surely a steak is a steak right? I like to think that I can cook a steak quite well, and I travelled to the restaurant on Saturday a touch cynical that I was about to pay quite a considerable amount of money for something not far off a home cooked meal. I had also looked at the menu in advance, where a lot of the meat is listed in the dreaded price per weight system. I generally have quite big issues with this, and find that it places the diner in that awkward situation whereby they order something and then panic that they will have to sell their child in order to pay the unknown bill. Unfortunately (or perhaps not) I’m not in that exclusive crowd who can rock up at these kind of places and not bat an eyelid at how much is being spent.

But as usual, and thankfully, shortly after arriving all of my cynicism fell flat on it’s arse. In fact it started the second we walked through the door. Just like the glorious smell of baking that you get when entering a bakery, my nostrils were invaded by the aroma of chargrilled beef; the sort that has you salivating, and looking around nervously wondering when they will deliver the food that you just HAVE to eat. This combined with the bustling atmosphere and casual furnishings acted as a total leveler. Often these places have an image of soulless pretension, and it certainly wasn’t the case here. 

One thing soon became apparent; Hawksmoor is no place for the indecisive. Once sat down you are given some pretty heavy literature on wine, cocktails and meat to mull over, and everything looks amazing. After much deliberation we went for Hawksmoor Collins cocktails to start, which were a delicious and refreshing way to begin proceedings. We were then given free champagne due to it being our anniversary, offered by our waiter after he enquired if we were celebrating anything. There’s nothing like free champagne to make an occasion feel special, and needless to say we were suitably boozed by the time the food came along. 

When it came to the food, we decided to skip the starters and go for it with the mains. My worries about pricing awkwardness was also alleviated as a chalkboard displayed the weights of the available cuts, so it was easy to calculate and I could relax. Before our visit we decided that we would try one of the famous big sharing joints, and in the end settled for a 900g bone-in rib. T-bone, porterhouse and chateaubriand are also offered, but I think that the rib holds more fat, and more flavour than the fillet type cuts so is my favourite. The sauces and accompaniments also sounded pretty special, so anchovy hollandaise for me, bearnaise for Katie, chips, greens and grilled bone marrow were also winging their way to us. 

Our table was a total mountain of food by the time it came along, and the centerpiece was a skillet filled with glorious charred beef. We asked for our meat to be cooked medium-rare, and I must say that when we first saw it we both were concerned that it was quite underdone. This wasn’t an issue, we both love our meat rare, and when we had our first bite the meat, and our concerns literally melted away. This steak truly lived up to it’s reputation and is honestly the best steak I’ve ever had. The sheer charcoal barbecue flavour was incredible, I almost wanted to wrap some up in tissue to keep with me at all times so that I could always be reminded of the taste. Absolute brilliance. 

The bits on the side perfectly complimented the main event. Both sauces were smooth and tangy and the chips had had as much care in preparation as the meat. The interaction in serving and sharing the food on the table also helped in making the meal that bit more memorable. The only unfortunate revelation of the evening was my discovery that bone marrow isn’t really my cup of tea. I hadn’t tried it before and thought that if I would have it anywhere it would be here. When it came to the table it looked spectacular, huge bones sawn open full of golden caramelised marrow. I didn’t not like it exactly, I just didn’t find the jelly/fatty texture that pleasurable. I’m glad that I ordered it though, and the fact that I didn’t massively enjoy it was at no way the fault of Hawksmoor. I’ve a sly feeling that it may be a slow burner, and that I will end up liking it in the future, so I’ll definitely order it again. I’ve heard that the bone marrow and salsa verde served at the St John is terrific....

We were stuffed and very satisfied after the main, and only had room for some salted caramel ‘rolos’ and aperitifs, which were yet again sublime. 

As with any meal out, especially at this level, the experience and service are so important in making it memorable. The food can be amazing, but if there service is rude or non-existent then that’s what is mostly remembered. But on Saturday the service really made the meal. From minute one we were made so welcome by our waiter, who had the skill to be attentive without crowding. He also made great and honest wine recommendations, choosing a very reasonable bottle, and even offered to take the bone marrow off the bill when I joked that I hadn’t really enjoyed them (which of course I refused). It was the kind of service that all front of house should take note of, and the sort that leaves diners wanting to throw money at them.

We left overjoyed and with a paunch, and already planning how we can justify another visit.