Smoking Goat: Inspired

Since the summer of 2007, smokers have had to stand outside, shielding their glowing embers from the sideways rain, a true British summer experience. But inside kitchens all across the Capital, there has been a growing trend to cooking the campfire way. Josper's shares must have gone through the roof - charcoal is in high demand. Others have turned to wood. But I have never before seen coal used on a menu. Step forward Smoking Goat, a restaurant serving BBQ with the flavours of Thailand, with their "coal roast aubergine salad". Similar to those smoked aubergines you can pick up in Istanbul. But with extra smoke. A mound of mint leaves. A soft boiled egg. And a drenching bristling with chili, lime and fish sauce. No one in Thailand may ever have eaten this. But I bet they wish they had.

All of the chit chatter had been about the crab which was sadly not available on my visit. So, chicken wings it was. After burgers and hot dogs, chicken wings have been a staple in London for longer than perhaps they should. As with any food trends, so many of the late arrivals are sad imitations. Not Smoking Goat. They'll see your smoked chipotle or gochujang and raise you some fish sauce. Salty, crispy, spicy, these were inspired.

Next up a yellow curry with clams - perfectly balanced flavours, generous clams - this on its own would merit a trip to Smoking Goat.

Back to another food trend sadly often ruined - ribs. In place of pork or beef: lamb. We had nothing to worry about. Cooked to the right side of tender, smoky from the wood: sweet and sticky on their own, they were transformed by a quick dunk in a dipping sauce straight out of Chatuchak.

The only things which didn't quite hit the mark were the som tam, a little carboardy and lacking in punch, and the rice which arrived late and was underdone. Still minor aberrations in what was otherwise an incredible meal.

Décor is non-descript, a few of those low-flying bulbs to hit your head off, bare wooden tables. So understated in fact that a father and son came in while waiting for sisters and mum. They didn't eat a thing, assuming I suppose that it was just a quiet pub, a place to grab a quick pint. I was tempted to beseech them to stay - at least for a portion of those chicken wings - but as soon as they arrived, they were gone, a swift pint down the hatch and back outside to the madding world of Soho.


Smoking Goat opened about the same time as Som Saa, and with both focussing on Thai BBQ, comparisons were always going to be made. But I am not sure that is all that fair. They are both absolutely fantastic, each in their own way.

 

 

The Bonneville: Clapton on the move

Before we go any further, lets get the toilets out of the way. If you've never been to the London Dungeon, and lord knows why you would unless you have visited as a hapless tourist, you need no longer even consider it. Put that £17.50 back in your pocket; The Bonneville has it covered.

Some might call it naff, it probably is, but I liked it.  Descend the stairs and the dry ice gets to work: "smoke"; a cobbled street; all very spooky. Its like you've been on the Delorean with Doc Brown, transported from hipster heaven to Queen Vic's London, you could imagine Jack the Ripper walking past, dipping his cap, on the way to his latest misadventure. It all makes for quite a dramatic place to take a pee.

But back to upstairs: here things are much more Clapton 2014. Walls are stripped, men are mustached, braces are abundant. Despite this it feels cosy, a place you want to be. There is a lever espresso machine in the corner (a La Pavoni I would proffer), resplendent in brass. Beers are served by the 2/3 pint, a good selection of local craft, a pisco sour was lost in the making, just too sweet.

 

While the Bonneville may be very Clapton 2014, the menu is from a hidden brasserie in the Bastille. Resolutely Gallic. There are snails, but they lack the necessary punch. Where is the butter, let alone the garlic - they should be drowning. Here they feel like they've been on one of Channel 4's fat camps; transformed into a health food.

The tartiflette is much better, but still lacked a certain oomph.

We get to the cassoulet and at last the Bonnville starts singing.  The beans have done their job, rich and creamy, excellent sausage and bacon. This is what many look for but can often no longer find in Paris' never-ending brasseries; honest, rich, hearty, French cooking. The green salad is spiked with tart French dressing; a perfect bedfellow for the rich cassoulet.

There is also steak and frites: its fine, but hardly a destination dish.

There is no doubt you can eat better French food in London at a similar price.  But the Bonneville has something: it makes you want to snuggle up for the night. Outside is a place you don't need to confront for a while.  For you are safe in the arms of the Bonneville, another glass of red wine? Oh, okay, why not. Outside can wait a little longer.

Som Saa: worth the wait!

I love a queue. I really do. I see a restaurant surrounded by baying "foodies" and I want to go. I will stand in the rain, the sleet and the snow, just to get whatever it may be: a burger; some ramen perhaps. I waited 2 hours for a burger from #Meateasy, as they then were, in New Cross Gate. Call me boring, but the great thing about a queue is that it is orderly, you may be climbing the culinary equivalent of Everest, but the summit is in sight: you know how many breathless steps you have got to go to get there.

Men with clipboards, however well meaning, are a slightly different prospect. You are assured of 45 minutes, that comes and goes. Others, who arrived after, seem to be sitting down earlier (perhaps the joys of eating in a three). One table, almost empty other than for a few portly gentleman, offers hope, a false dawn; no that is the owner who needs nine seats for him and his chums. An hour arrives, still no luck. Another quarter, nope, still waiting.

We get to 1 hour 35 and at last we sit down, a little weary, murmurings that "it had all better be worth it". But see that's where Som Saa, the latest pop up at Climpson's Arch, gets you. Because it is. Despite the disorderly seating system, the mislaid snacks which turned up 30 minutes late and the general lack of organisation, the food is, in the main, very good indeed. You have traveled through purgatory and arrived in heaven: a heaven heavy-laden with chili, drenched in fish sauce and full of lime-smacked smiles. In London it is perhaps only second to The Heron in delivering that collision of flavour that only Thailand can.

Some snacks got us through our wait, cashew nuts tarted up with Kaffir Lime and chili, some fermented pork, sour and spicy. There is the usual som tam, here served Bangkok or Isaan style (a little heavy on the salt, but vibrant).

Grilled pork neck makes the most of the wood-fired oven at Climpson's Arch - hot, sweet, sour, and salty in equal measures, it is everything Thai food should be.There is a curry which, to my palate tastes similar to a Massaman, although it is given a much more interesting name here.

Juicy prawns are simply grilled, served with a dipping sauce in which to get your fingers grubby.

And fish, perhaps the scariest looking sea bass you ever will see - I was waiting for fireballs to roll forth from its nose! It may look overdone, but the flesh was perfect, the skin crispy. A triumph on which to end.

The wait and the queuing system at Som Saa may be frustrating, the food is anything but. Head early or late, gorge on some of the best Thai food around and leave laughing. I'll be the one at the bottom of the clipboard, waiting for my hit.

*Thanks to the kitchen for the extra serving of prawns to make up for the wait, much appreciated!

Chotto Matte: Nikkei cuisine with a side of glam

Chotto Matte is a restaurant in Soho. It serves Nikkei cuisine. Obviously. A heady mix of Japanese and Peruvian cuisine, think sashimi with giant corn, it is a cuisine made for London in 2014. Peruvian, heralded as the saviour last year, has become a slow-burning success (Ceviche has two branches, Lima a star). Japanese, and especially Japanese "fusion" (how I do hate that word), continues to be a popular amongst the chattering classes.

There is graffiti, but not any old graffiti, Chotto Matte has anime graffiti. Of course there are the Soho chandeliers - the hanging light bulbs of Babylon. There is a winding staircase and a gaggle of glamorous people waiting to greet you. This place has been designed to fit around the stylish set of Soho - a quick look on the website reveals no less than 190 photos of people who I am sure I should know, but don't, all looking just fantastic. Designer heaven set against a backdrop of anime. 

This is not really my style - I prefer a more simple set up. But I digress, I shouldn't be so shallow. Can they cook? Do they manage to blend their sashimi with their ceviche? That is the important thing. 

Emphatically, yes. I know, I am as surprised as you. Often when this much attention has been spent on cultivating such an on-trend look, restaurateurs forget that they also have to serve up half decent plate of grub. No such loss of focus at Chotto Matte. Bar a couple of slightly less impressive dishes (the gyoza were simply fine, the ox heart a little chewy), we are served plate after plate of food that will make you smile. Beautiful food. Tasty food.

A trio of raw seafood to kick things off: limey scallop with jalapeno, yes please; seabass with that giant corn, crispy and boiled; and yellowtail and yuzu. Fresh fish, bang on flavours, it all worked. And, to boot, it was all just so darned pretty!

Sea bass, sweet potato and corn 

Scallop sashimi

Yellowtail

Things continued with some crispy softshell crab and beef heart in a "traditional" marinade - a rousing mix of panca and amarillo peppers, unctuous is the word I think. There were also gyoza, crispy one side, punctuated by garlic.

We finished with a couple of tostaditas. Now maybe this is what Nikkei cuisine is - I have eaten well in Peru and Japan, but I don't profess to be an expert - but it certainly felt as if we had headed a couple of thousand miles north to Mexico when these came out - think the beach at Tulum. Crispy tortilla topped with beef fillet "tataki" (not sure that we had enough of a sear to get us to tataki, but nice nonetheless), and black cod with miso. Great snacking food.

Beef tataki tostadita

Black cod and miso tostadita

Does it serve up genuine Nikkei cuisine? Probably not. Does it matter? Probably not. Chotto Matte is like a student on their gap year, let loose with an STA round-the-world ticket: some truffle from Italy, a stop in Mexico for supplies, a lengthy stay in Peru to "help the locals", followed by some culture in Japan. You know what though, I enjoyed my gap year. And I enjoyed Chotto Matte too, so there!

The Green Man and French Horn: offaly good..

Cosy. On a cold November's eve, the wind blustering, the Christmas lights shining (why oh why so early?), we needed a restaurant to warm our cockles, to provide comfort from the Outside. So it was to France we turned, specifically the Loire - stepping inside The Green Man and French Horn, you leave the Outside well and truly behind. A warm welcome, soft lighting and a hallway of a restaurant that somehow makes you feel that it's not just that, we were set up for a night of jollity.

Now I had high hopes for Mr Green and his horn, he is backed by the kind of people who know how to run a restaurant. People who have done this before, well. Take Terroirs, a split level restaurant just by Charing Cross serving two different menus, everything excellent. Brawn, another of theirs, may have run out of their namesake last time I was there, but my oh my did the rest of the menu make up for it. Needless to say I hardly came to this most strangely named of former pubs without expectations.

And I am glad to report that there is no need to draft in Mr Blonde, Mr Blue, Mr Brown or any of the others just yet, Mr Green is doing just fine. A raft of small plates were on offer: London's favourite, rilletes; Jerusalem artichokes, that oh so windy of veg; leeks with brown shrimps. You could make a meal out of these and leave very, very happy.

We decided to get a few to share: "Fresh cheese" was an undressed burrata, resplendent in its nudity; duck egg and salty anchovy soldiers, umami heavy, was a combo to be repeated at home; Game terrine, rich with the weight of venison; sweet and soft Rillon (pork belly), with bitter endive leaves and the punch of mustard. 

"Fresh cheese"

Duck egg with anchovy soldiers

Game terrine

Rillon and endive

Of course, being in "France", we had to indulge in some snails - tender little morsels with a subtle parsley and garlic sauce, interspersed with the crunch of croutons and fried hedgehog mushrooms, a real highlight.

The snails

So onto the main course we marched and I did my usual thing. If there's offal, I'll have it - I just can't help myself. At least this time I knew what I was getting into, despite the kindly look of concern from our waitress. Andouillette - a French sausage like no other. I first had it in Edinburgh when out with a group of mates following one too many pints of IPA (Deuchars, of course), it was described to us as a sausage made with belly. We assumed, belly pork, the meat. No, no, no, you need to go a little deeper than that - it is essentially chitterlings (small pig's intestines), mixed with tripe and wine, encased in more offal.  It is pungent stuff, but once you get over the wiff, it is something to be treasured. And none more so that at the Horny Green Man's place, it may not be from the Loire, but they have it nailed down. Splendid.

Andouillette with mash and mustard sauce

Others went for mussels and clams (both tasty, but a little measly), a rather pricey piece of sea bass (£23 for a smallish portion), and the skate  - pan fried, the whole wing was served. All eminently serviceable, but not up to the same highs as the starters.

On to something sweet - others had the poached pear and salted caramel sauce, "winemaker's tart", and the rice pudding. All great, but the pudding was the star; it enveloped you, a great big bear hug of a dessert. As usual, I had the cheese - limited choice, but what we had was great.

By this point we had worked our way through a little of their rather splendid wine list (which focuses on small scale French producers), and had warmed up sufficiently to contemplate the Outside. Sad as we were, it was time to venture back out into the bluster, leaving behind only memories of a thoroughly enjoyable evening. 

Grain Store: can I go back already?

"Surprise!", well that's the name of the menu we had. But it shouldn't really have been. Grain Store is Bruno Loubet's new place. Of course it was going to be good. I just didn't know it was going to be this good. This generous. This fun.

King's Cross is growing up. The teenage years of all night raves seem a distant memory. Gentrification is working its wily way. Gone (almost) are the sleazy bars and warehouse clubs (much to Mr Meantime's disappointment). In their place, plush flats and restaurants. Set in a large warehouse next to (the rather disappointing) Caravan, is Grain Store. It's all open plan New York warehouse, the kitchen stretches along one side, colanders for light shades, friendly waiters a hive of activity.  No table cloths, lots of smiles - no pretence. I was hooked by the time I had the first sip of my truffle martini (okay, so maybe there's a little pretence).

The courtyard outside The Grain Store: gentrification in motion

You can either choose from the menu or go with whatever Bruno has decided is best that day - the "Surprise" menu. It's not a tasting menu, you share four different starters, then each have the same main and desert.

Up first: tender octopus; peppers; punctuated with coco beans. Rich with smoked paprika, it may well have introduced itself with an "Hola" and demanded a cerveza. I loved it.  There was also yoghurt flat bread topped with carrot spread and grated carrot. Not something I would have chosen from the menu, but it worked.

There followed a hulking whale of an aubergine, chopped in half, the middle scooped out and stuffed with tomato sauce and lamb: a novel moussaka. And no, that's not a mirror, it was a half an aubergine between two; a whole aubergine for the table of four. We also had girolles and (wood-scorched) leaks. Simple, bold flavours - although I wish they had left a bit of the "scorch" on the leeks - they were peeled, tender, but they had lost a bit of that smoky oomph!

We were starting to think that the moussaka and mushrooms had been mains - we were filling up. But no, there was much more to come. Christmas had arrived early. On a plate. Roasted partridge replaced the turkey. Baked celeriac the brussels. Pickled red cabbage brought snow drifts to mind.  A roasted greengage - summer fruit eaten in the depths of winter. It made me want to snuggle up with a wood fire and a dram - cosy food.

Finally we were brought a chocolate and red bean pudding, with ginger ice cream. The fiery ginger made for some of the best ice cream I have ever had. Sat alongside, a rich chocolate pudding surrounded by crumbs of what tasted like oreos, and a rich bean sauce. "I don't really like chocolate" I said. The plate was licked clean.

Before we left Grain Store, we booked our return visit - a group of twelve this time. We are all going for another "Surprise!". I, for one, can't wait! 

Jubo: London's love affair continues

Just when you think London may be slowly falling out of love with American fast food, when sensible, grown-up, dare I whisper it, healthy, restaurants are opening to fanfare, you are again faced with chicken strips. Okay, so Jubo isn't quite in the same mould. Its Manhatten via Seoul. Nevertheless, the American influence weighs heavy.

Nestled into the corner of the ground floor in the Bedroom Bar, Jubo serves food to eat while drinking. There are wings, chicken strips, and steamed buns of various sorts. Kimchi slaw. A beef-stuffed sub. Perfect food after a few cocktails.

The "Yangnyeom Tongdak" (Korean-fried) chicken came winged or stripped, with soy or hot and sweet. We went for the strips, three of each. I am reliably informed by my trusty companion Wikipedia that the difference between American and Korean fried chicken is that the Koreans are not happy with frying their chicken once. No, theirs is double-fried for extra crunch (cue Heston's next show, triple-cooked chicken). And, sure enough, the chicken was super crunchy, but still juicy and tender inside. The hot and sweet ones with sesame seeds slipped down a treat.

We also got the Bulgogi (Korean-marinated) beef sub - a tasty roll, but nothing exciting.  Kimchi slaw was disappointing - the fermented hit lost in a sea of mayonnaise.

Hirata buns, one filled with slow-cooked pork and sriracha, the other with portobello mushroom, were rich, the mushroom heavy with umami. A couple of years back, they would have been exciting. Now they were just a little disappointing, at least when compared with those on offer at places like Yum Bun round the corner. Still, not a bad effort, and certainly fine to nibble on while drinking with friends.

The mushroom hirata...

And that's where I end up with Jubo. If you are going expecting a revelation, you will be disappointed. If you are meeting a few drinks and want some tasty bar snacks to sit alongside your cocktails, Jubo will do just fine.