Every other review of a restaurant in Chinatown includes an msg soaked starter reminiscing about Gerrard Street's good old times. Food was terrible, service non existent and any complaints answered with five thunderbolts. Not too sure about the last one but over the past few years I've definitely eaten in a few hum dingers in London's China epicenter.
Not much has changed really. Just our budgets. A couple quid extra has opened the door to the chinese powerhouses of the Golden Palace and Feng Shui Inn. Now though, for a few more pennies there's a 'modern oriental' kid on the block.
Flashing a contemporary feel, Haozhan has been opened with the help from a former chef at Hakkasan. As you'd expect he's brought a keen attention to detail and presentation and influences from Japan, Malaysia and Thailand.
This being lunch, delicately grilled and herbed gyoza-style dumplings and light duck spring roll (served in a glass) made tasty light starters. Onto a clean, meaty champagne cod, soft and succulet jasmine ribs and a waiter recommended dish - beef in red wine served in a crispy noodle nest: Succulent beyond imagination and a taste not experienced before. Seeing one served elsewhere we praised ourselves for ordering a cream of pumpkin desert despite being far more satisfied than expected. It almost crept up - but everything was welll timed, well balanced and, well, delicious.
Haozhan is different. They've borrowed a couple ideas from the likes of Yuatcha, Nobu and Hakkasan and brought the experience down a level without compromising on the senses (or the wallet). It's a bit cheeky to go with such a homophonic name and, mate, the menu has pictures... but that aside and here is a welcome addition for when beef ho fun and char siu isn't quite enough.
Haozhan
http://www.haozhan.co.uk
8 Gerrard Street
London
W1D 5PJ (map)
+44 (0) 20 7434 3838
High-rises, gangs, prams, Olympics and best-of-the-worst awards come, go and hackney strides on. Victoria Park Village has barely batted an eyelid, nestled safety and uninterrupted in the arms of Britain’s oldest public park. This one and a half stretch of amenities and boutiques stands proud and unmoved like a portly war veteran – who’s puffed out chest is the grand red awning of the Empress of India.
As the menu-prologue is eager to point out, the current incarnation of this elegant British gastropub is the latest in a line of rebirths. At present it features a spick and span layout with grand well-stocked bar presiding over one side. A separately themed dining area to the other half is decorated with a mosaic floor and exotic murals depicting elephants, palaces and turbans
Ambiance here is calm, organised, methodical (not particularly busy on this night). The 15 or so tables are served by two who are obviously experienced and comfortable with the strong menu. A regularly updated handful or so dishes per course are available at around £6/starter and £13/main.
Full flavoured Fois Gras parfait with even fuller port plums joined forces in a rich, delicious combination of my preferred starting staple. The hot smoked salmon, avocado mousse and Bloody Mary sauce was more adventurous, lacking in exhilaration but no less tasty. For mains, I went for the special; Rare short horn lamb on a bed of spinach, potato and delicate goats cheese. Special indeed, more succulent than any lamb I’ve ever tasted. I honestly hummed every mouthful in a one-man throng of euphoria.
From Tom and Ed Martin (including The Gun in Docklands) The Empress isn’t cut from the same cloth as the other gastropubs around town. It is, as the best ones should be, a refined collection of finest quality produce cooked well with culinary genius (in this case, Tim Wilson, former chef at the Ivy). Unlike the others it has less of a traditional hectic feel, more sedate, solid, timeless – like the proud village of Victoria Park surrounding it.
I’ll be going back again.
The Empress of India
http://www.theempressofindia.com
130 Lauriston Road
Victoria Park
London
E9 7LH (map)
+44 (0) 208 533 5123
The aptly named "Centraal" branch of Belgo's Belgium Restaurant and Bierodrome is less Belgian and more Laserquest. Grey, mesh and metal greet you once inside along with a steely stare-down from the front desk. Maybe because of it's popularity with tourists, maybe because it's christmas or maybe because the staff are simply too important we're instantly told all the party must be present, we must line up in front of the desk and must await walkie-talkie confirmation from a relay of ushers if we've got any chance of sitting at a table. Forget Laserquest, it's more like a leg of the Crystal Maze. Drill passed, down a set of stairs covered in black and yellow warning tape through another couple of holding areas and we're inside a bustling, noisy underground canteen. Thanks probably to places like the Dove, this is a couple countries away from the cosy, inviting experience I was expecting. Here is a themed restaurant with an attitiude. Wait staff lumber around pacing between the two main dining ares at each of a vast, angry kitchen. Plates are being produced on-mass by teams of cooks, one laying out steaks, one on sauce and the other with chips. A couple of diners have become enthralled on their way to the bathrooms and stare in bewilderment. The broadsheet menu, an ugly collection of boxes accentuates the large collection of beers on offer. I went for a Slag Pilsner and a strong, golden Duvel. Both demonstrating the complexities and variation of good beer production. Around the table are a collection of nods in agreement. Food. Average. Forgettable. The signature dish, a kilo pot of mussels provencale (the other option was mariniere but white wine & beer?) was not sandy, not small but was too bland. The others all chose steak to great satisfaction but when you're paying £20+ a cut it's hard to get them wrong. It's not a bad place and obviously very popular. It should have been about the beer and the food but instead we received a mouthful of the rest.
Disguised as an office building - Sake no Hana blends only too well into the Economist's Plaza on St James' street. A plaque by the menacing automatic door is the only giveaway before it slides open. A couple of bemused doormen look out - who I'm sure will get used to welcoming lost diners.
Inside is an office building's foyer. They've either painfully replicated the entrance to a Wall St bank in black marble or just left the old building as it was. This being Alan Yau and architect Kengo Koma the latter is a dead cert but it really just feels like the bank. Nothing like the decadence of L'Atelier. Alright, I know, hanging out here isn't scheduled, so up a dark, thin escalator to the 1st floor restaurant.
Somehow cater-cornered and not in a great way the restaurant is a mix of standard tables and sunken no-shoes Izakaya seating. Attractive bleached-wood skeletal pyramids echo the simplicity of the room which has a dab of sober beige, a splash of Dojo and the smell of money. Wait staff tiptoe around sinking awkwardly to their knees when serving, a feat not easily achieved by the burly sake sommelier balancing a £200 bottle with a grimace (they do serve 180ml taster carafes from £12).
The menu, traditional Japanese in summary; salad, tempura, marinated then fried dishes, rice and desert. Sushi and sashimi are not available, the sushi-bar downstairs is not yet complete although the glamorous table of soap stars behind are braying over a round of nigiri.
Over the next 90 minutes the courses roll (or rather loll - first week teething is passable) A minute jar or King Crab salad in a Japanese plum jelly is a silky mouthful of sweet flavors - shame there's only two spoon's and a tinkles-worth. Mixed tempura, with a good but not Tokugawa standard batter. Leaf wrapped oblongs of Chilean sea bass with giant soy beans and button mushrooms in an superbly overwhelming satay-notes sauce and korokke a painfully rendered yet too fussy beef, potato croquette. For staples we went for sticky rice and Udon noodles, both pedigree versions of their mainstream counterparts.
Almost all flavours were choreographed delights, fantastic, orchestraic but over far too soon. The better dishes were the more elaborate but they could fit on a 50 pence piece (whilst costing a fistful of golden coins). After 8 dishes and an onslaught of intriguing tastes we were left not quite satisfied - with a feeling more like eating a selection of Belgian chocolates.
Sake no Hana is the latest restaurant from Alan Yau of Hakkasan and Yauatcha fame. Sure it will get a third Michelin Star but in comparison I'm not so convinced. Maybe that will change when the new-wood smell calms down and the wait staff understand the dishes (and their sizes) better. I've a feeling though that for me there won't be a second time - fine Japanese cuisine exists in just one country.
Sake no Hana
23 St James's Street
London
SW1A 1HA (map)
020 7925 8988
It had to happen - all across London common boozers are scrubbing up the floorboards, pulling down the TVs and ordering a crate of duralex. Whilst not a new prospect the last couple years have seen a surge in the gentrified Gastropub and everybody wants a piece of the gourmet pie. Fortunately, Dalston's Scolt Head has not followed the "get gastro in 21 days" guide and with expertise from the Fox and Great Queen Street has recently re-opened under new management. Almost stranded between Islington and London Fields it’s a solid neighborhood building - fronted by a large bar, trademark low lighting, plenty of exposed wood and an intriguing collection of heat & pressure dials. The "library" of Penguin books is really just a row above the fireplace but add a point for effort. All the real regulars have been shuffled away into a large romper-room to the back left of the bar. With a stage for live music, pool, darts, boxed games and a giant screen they don’t seem to mind and it’s soon busy. Smartly zoned to the right is an exemplary rustic dining area. Bread is served with balsamic, salt’s in an open dish and the menu printed on A4 with a handful of choices. All good so far.
We went for a chorizo salad - the best I’ve had since the sandwiches in Borough Market; hearty, creamy meal-in-a-bowl of onion soup and a plate of huge razor clams in a garlic and herb dressing. All three (of the four to choose from) were incredible. To follow we all opted for
The Scolt Head
107a Culford Rd
N1 4HT (map)
Dalston
020 7254 3965
Exmouth Market is an easily overlooked destination visited mostly by people who haven't succumbed to the Angel and Old Street heavyweights, both a respective spit and stone's throw away. Nestled against the Rosebery rat-race highway there's something delicate and appealing about the short leafy lane of one-off shops and bar/restaurants, especially on a rainy evening when the fairy lights beacon safe refuge.
The more local types might even venture a little deeper into the undergrowth, and cautios of the brutish Mount Pleasant lurking nearby slip north up to The Easton, one of the earlier Pubs in London to assume Gastropub status. In established tradition the furniture is rustic, ambiance upbeat and menu simply stated on a chalkboard above the long bar.
I've lunched here a number of times - including an unforgettable beef Sunday roast of Friar Tuck proportions. Each of the three veg and two potatoes ensembling in a way only mothers can otherwise achieve. Today we went for honey glazed Pork chop with Patatas Bravas - the glaze complemented one of the most succulent chops I've ever tasted (the potatoes were okay but I'd have preferred crisper roasts); Pumpkin Pie, visually impressive and an epicurean delight for the pumpkin-lover; and a hearty seafood risotto cooked on the good side of perfect.
I've only been here during the day and cannot vouch for either side of the "get out we're closing" debate in current circulation. To me the Easton is one of a handful gastro-staples, delivering the goods every time.
The Easton
22 Easton Street,
London,
WC1X 0DS
020 7278 7609
On the weekend virtually all of London between Farringdon and Liverpool Street resuscitates after a hard week playing around with truckloads of cash. There's a strange emptiness even around residential areas, Barbican and Smithfields both void of excitement.
Smiths of Smithfield on a weekend morning is a relative hive of activity - full of screaming kids, hungover young professionals and disillusioned tourists happy to see somewhere lively. It's the wrong kind of lively though, like a mash up of evening bar and breakfast spot (which it effectively is). The aforementioned people are all over the place, sat around awkwardly round tables which don't lend a hand to the hectic visuals, being tended by what feels like a hundred wait staff.
Our waitress was slightly too busy to actually take our order and when we waivered on which smoothie dashed off unnannounced. We ordered a medium Smith's breakfast (handily numbered from 1-something in order of size) The sausage, bacon beans etc were of okay quality and quantity although nothing special. Totally un-special however were the poached eggs - which had been hard boiled. The reply from the waitress was farcical "you asked for poached eggs and they are poached eggs" but before I had chance to impart a piece of my mind she was gone again - returning a few minutes later with a couple of correctly cooked eggs.
Smiths has it all as an uber-popular evening bar and restaurant but this doesn't translate into a breakfast location. I prefer some peace with my eggs and paper.
Smiths of Smithfield
67-77 Charterhouse Street
EC1M 6HJ
Farringdon
020 7251 7950