The Delaunay

Hard to believe as it is, April saw my first ever visit to The Delaunay. This less formal, warmer incarnation of The Wolseley, with its power breakfasts, Middle European afternoon tea and good-time crowd seems already to be an institution. Going by my Twitter timeline, it’s now as established as any West End stalwart. I've even recommended and referenced it to people as somewhere to take parents, mindlessly oblivious the irony that I hadn’t been myself.

And it’s great. It has all the elements required to add a little grandeur to a restaurant visit. The entrance is grand and instils a slight specialness to your arrival. Staff are exceptionally polite, well-groomed and as they take your coat and guide you to the bar area for a some cold and fizzy, your socks are already charmed off.

Food is really very decent. There is nothing adventurous on the menu, but that isn’t why you would dine here. The weekend brunch menu ranges from breakfast staples to steaks, running through salads, fish dishes, the odd burger and hot dog, and those Austro-Hungarian specialities you might know from The Wolseley.

Hungover as I am wont to be on a Saturday, the chicken noodle soup was beyond what the doctor ordered, beyond even junior doctors’ own saline drip remedy perhaps. A piping hot clear broth, with strong chicken flavour came with a decent amount of shredded chicken, the noodles and some veg (carrots, celery?) to add further taste. Simple and fantastic.

Revived, prosecco-ed up and feeling much better about life in general, my hungover choice of Chicken Cordon Bleu was still a solid decision. A bit of retro fun, but executed perfectly. A huge, juicy chicken breast was flawlessly breaded and filled with a layer of ham and cheese oozing out. It rested in a ridiculously tasty jus and the whole dish was an absolute pleasure to eat, with a twist of nostalgia. Surely there is nothing better than a fancy ‘kids’ tea’? The place that does grown-up waffles and beans next has my vote. 

 

Dessert options are compendious and faced with the choice of a Viennese grand café, I retreated into my ignorant shell and plumped for the obvious apple strudel with vanilla ice cream. It was crunchy, soft, warming and above any criticism. I’m a simple man with relatively simple tastes though: much like pancetta/bacon and savoury dishes, there are very few desserts a cheeky scoop of vanilla won’t enhance. Or compensate for. But this was inscrutable.

I don’t have anything further to add on The Delaunay. As I mentioned, bizarrely, it snuck into my repertoire and I spoke of it with familiarity and affection long before I’d been. Which is so odd. But I guess is a testimony to how consistent the reception has been that a dependable consensus seems to have infiltrated my consciousness.  

Queuing for burgers and eating street food on the pavement has its moments, but call me a traditionalist; this is how restaurants should be. Simplicity, atmosphere, timelessly contemporary, reliable and with a sense of occasion. It smacks of longevity already. 

Food – 8/10 
Drink – 8/10 
Service - 9/10 
Value – 9/10 
Tap water tales – 6/10 (nominal-charged filter option pushed, but tap available) 
Staff Hotness – 9/10

Bluebelles of Portobello

Another new-ish opening on northernmost Portobello Road (better known for Golborne Road admittedly), Bluebelles offers a vast brunch menu and fantastic coffee in a familiarly contemporary space.

Confidence and consumption never left West London. But affordable rents did, and with them went a lot of independent spirit. A generation of innovators and entrepreneurs has come of age in a time when most of West London is priced beyond viability. This little quarter has always been eclectic however (and had tribes comparable to ‘hipsters’ decades before anywhere east) and is seemingly returning to the map. 

Pizza East is the notable pin on the map these days, but Lowry & Baker and The Crazy Baker both provide the coffee and carbs integral to resting weary feet and thus underpinning any retail stretch. 

And this is quite the stretch: from beautiful Ally Capellino to London's own Moroccan epicentre, via vintage interiors stores, fancy florists, galleries and high-concept hairdressers, there is a lot of faux-boho and decidedly upscale activity here.

Bluebelles brings a third option within ten metres; a veritable cluster! Finally there is some choice in terms of decent coffee around here. It’s with Caravan beans, and very well executed. As well as the full brunch menu, there is an array of the usual savoury and sweet stuff. 

The café itself is buzzy, loud and illuminated by a selection of filamenty bulbs, as well as those swirly ones from Dragons’ Den. Perhaps they were indecisive, and trialled a few, and then decided mishmash was actually ‘the look’ – who knows. With the urban starkness of exposed brick softened by with the titular blue pastels, it’s a pleasant space. I liked the Moroccan tiles' nod to the Golborne environs.

And it's all very welcome in these final weeks, before this pig trots south of Father Thames….

Anderson & Co

Anderson & Co is a café on Peckham’s epicentre of localism and loveliness, Bellenden Road. Shrewdly for a trailblazer in a nascent area, they cover off multiple functions like bakery (sourced from Blackbird round the corner), brunch place, coffee hotspot, deli items and plenty of sweet stuff for the afternoon crowd.

We had a mix of the brunch and bistro menu. The Piglet went for bacon and scrambled eggs on sourdough, which was cooked behind us (the back dining room doubles up as the kitchen), well-seasoned and moderately priced at £5, if dare I say it, moderately sized too.

I had the chicken, chorizo and three bean casserole which was also about £5-6. There was a lone, soggy-skinned chicken drumstick which didn’t rock my world, but beyond that was plenty of punchy chorizo, a rich sauce and lots of warming beans. The zingy salad and excellent sourdough contributed to make this a great value lunch indeed.

Square Mile coffees were a strong point too, including some decent latte art, but I’m always a tad miffed when a long black is priced the same as a latte (both £2.50 – increasingly standard for this part of town). Hot water with a double espresso poured on top doesn’t require the same time, skill or ingredients (milk). Still, tiny gripe.

Anderson & Co is the sort of quality local café every area could do with. They host pop-up dinners, are very friendly and seem to be pivotal for the community, knowingly fortunate enough to have Bellenden Road as their village street. I’m curious to see if they adapt (or not) to the much-hyped General Store opening opposite (who will be doing Workshop Coffee), but Bellenden Road can comfortably handle several decent coffee and food places within its eclectic mix. 

p.s. Bellend. Bellend. Bellend. Obvious and immature perhaps, but I'd be lying to my own puerility if I feigned ignoring it.

Food – 8/10 

Drink – 6/10 

Service - 8/10 

Value – 8/10 (would be a 9 for food, 7 for coffee)

Tap water tales – 9/10 

Staff Hotness – 6/10 (homely!)

The Parlour and The Chamberlayne

West London, and specifically North West where I currently live, is a culinary desert. There are a few old favourites and predictable stalwarts, but these are not the fertile, lush plains of Central and East London in terms of choice, openings and excitement.

I’m not going to continue with the god-awful terrain analogy. So where I might have mentioned oases, I will say that there are some exceptions – mainly in related to buzz rather than quality or dynamism. Around Portobello, spots like the Electric, E&O and the Italians of Kensington Park Road are packed out, extremely lively but equally are part of the furniture. Crazy Homies, El Camino, Santo and Taqueria feed the area’s many Yanks, giving the area a rare edge on others for Mexican. And of course there is The Ledbury.

A little north of there, even less is going on. Shambolic for somewhere so central and extortionate to live. Sacro Cuore’s pizzeria is tasty but let down by apathetic service. The Dock Kitchen has shades of brilliance (and not just Tom Dixon’s metallic numbers) but isn’t quite there on the food.  Too preoccupied with concept and identity to relax and confidently secure its future. People are confused – it is open? Is it a pop-up? Foraged menu only? Is there a bar? Shame as the space is fantastic.

But the pubs of North West London are decent, and this blurb is about The Parlour and The Chamberlayne. The former has been many things, known to most as that other pub behind that suburban fleshpot The Paradise, the Infernos of NW. However it’s been taken over by the Mall Tavern team, and is looking rather slick.

The starkness of the tiling is given warmth with a sea of mismatching, reclaimed wood tables, red booths and mixed up seating, and next door an attractive teal dining room sports plenty of clubby amber booth seating and original panelling. Inspiration seems to be Schiller’s Liquor Bar meets Riding House Café. But it retains a pub feel, no least due to the many interesting drops on tap – for example Anchor Steam’s Liberty Ale. Seeing their regular beer on tap is a special enough, so this is quite unique. 

Breakfast has been lauded here and it delivers. They’re trying the frying pan as a plate thing but seemingly bottling it due to lack of space for the handle (some tables are a little small). The beans in the jar are a great touch, although homemade might have been more exciting than Heinz given the effort in other areas. Hash browns are not seen enough on brunch menus and the sourdough and spreads bar for £1 (included in main breakfasts though) is cheaper than chips. Amazing bacon too. Solid coffee from South London’s Volcano and excellent service. And on weekends the kitchen is open until 1am which is a rare thing in W1, let alone out here in the sticks.

From breakfast to dinner, and for carnivores it has to be The Chamberlayne. Owned by The Salusbury team, they have gone for steaks and other meats (with some bistro touches) rather than the Italian you’d expect. Steaks here are dry aged and from a various sources, Scottish or English with the odd USDA guest. 

 

My T-bone was immense; quality meat, masterfully charred yet pink, well rested and absolutely nothing to improve upon. As respectable as you’d have anywhere, and at £36-ish inclusive of chips and a sprightly salad, extremely good value. An added bonus was receiving both rosemary & red wine jus and a decent béarnaise as standard – no fleecing on the sauces here. Chips were double cooked and amazing dipped in the rich jus.

We ate in the pub area on a Saturday night. It was rammed and so not much to say in the way of service, but to be expected. One teeny gripe was that we ordered all food, drinks and desserts (crumble was gigantic but mealy, loose and unfinished) all from the bar as per the pub norm, but at the very end we asked a passing barman for our bill as it was so busy. It had the 12.5% service added, which I think would not have happened had we got up and paid our pub tab. Not the worst thing, but a little cheeky – our fault for being lazy I guess and a lesson learned.

Clientele are those that can’t afford Notting Hill – either willing exiles looking for space and value, or reluctant snobs and penniless second sons. Think older dads working in TV and advertising: turned-up selvedge, tan brogues and the now-encouraged salt & pepper hair, having their monthly night away from Olivia and Rufus on the Guinness and nosebag.

Both Parlour and Chamberlayne represent some reasonable options in the area. There isn’t an influx of fancy fried chicken, not many places to grab a flat white and certainly not a sniff of Peruvian but food trends aside, there are several spots for dependable grub in the area.
 

The Attendant

The Attendant is a coffee shop which has taken over the relatively iconic Victorian gents’ outside of the Crown & Sceptre pub in Fitzrovia.

I’ve been to a few of these in the past as bars; Ginglik is cavernously tragic, the Spitalfields church bar is plain shite and Manchester’s Temple of Convenience is too small and smelly to work, even with a tapestry of preserved Victoriana.

But this definitely works as a café. The space needed is less than for a bar and the robust, warming smell of Caravan's roasts is better than stale beer at eliminating what thoughts of what might have been. How curious that we are so happy to sip lattes and munch pastries in a former den of bodily functions and knee-tremblers. London after all does reinvention better than that desperate bag of bones Madonna, perhaps why she persists in darkening our door...

Great care has been taken to preserve in some cases (check the fantastic repurposing of the urinals or the tiling upon entry) and improve in others (peppy new orange tiling along the ‘bar’) and it really succeeds as a space. Staff are lovely, offering both water and WiFi code unprompted, allaying fears of a subterranean lack of 3G.

For a tiny old bog, there is a pretty ambitious and tempting food menu. Foxcroft & Ginger may have a new challenger for the best sandwiches and lunch in London’s coffee scene. I was majorly eavesdropping and learned that the co-owner is versed in NY Jewish deli culture and so we can expect brisket, pastrami and turkey hand-sliced in situ as well as a brunch menu. Plans for future private dining hire and wine evenings excited this little pig too – there’s only so long you can sit in a basement before grape or grain spring to mind.

And as I enjoyed my perfect long black under the lampshades of an old cistern, my head nestled between the cheeks of  a formerly working urinal (voyeur no doubt to plenty of illicit head itself), I realised that in London's booming coffee-verse, duplication and choice have grown quicker than originality.

The Attendant dispels any plateauing of innovation resolutely, offering somewhere quite brilliantly conceived and executed. It certainly fuels the fire that Fitzrovia, now boasting Kaffeine, Gitane and the Scandi Kitchen even on Great Titchfield Street alone, is now firmly W1's underdog coffee hub. And a lot cooler about it than Berwick or Lexington Streets.

San Francisco

San Francisco must be one of the most stereotypically ‘foodie wanker’ cities going. In fact, I’d say the most. It’s a hipster hub, both spiritual and corporate home of tech, blogging and Apple in particular, and localism and organic produce are infuriatingly revered.

The only points I’d say New York scores are due to both its critical mass (although per head comparisons would be interesting) and that innate impatience with anything old, ensuring a blinkingly turnover of premises and a labourious obsession with where's 'hot'.

You’ll need a coffee to perk you up after what is likely to be a long flight. Blue Bottle is San Francisco’s Monmouth or Square Mile. They have plenty of outlets around the Bay Area, but if you’re after a cultural fix too, the excellent SF MOMA sports its own, complete with Mondrian cake and an interesting rooftop sculpture garden.

 

If in the Mission, try Ritual, the other major SF roastery. I found it smoother than Blue Bottle and a bit less stiff. This place has a ridiculous hipster quotient. Don’t you dare bring in a PC laptop. Or arrive clean-shaven! 

Check the amount of shiny Apple lights coming from these antisocial, unemployed, uniform drones:

 

As mentioned, San Franciscans are obsessive about produce, which isn’t surprising given the climate and soil of the surrounding country. Superlative fruit, vegetables and wine are everywhere – out of state is anathema, let alone imported. Even the crummiest corner deli has a robust craft beer selection (I’m not sure we can count Sam Adams, Sierra or Brooklyn any more) to make a London 'specialist' weep.

America means burgers, right? Even with a hugely diverse population especially heavy on both Asian and Latino cultures, there are countless diners, traditional restaurants and deceptively divey looking bars slinging good burgers.

Jasper’s Taproom offered fantastic spiced cotechini and other bar treats, but this SF Gate Top 50-rated burger was a bit of a let-down. The bun was inexplicably an over-salted focaccia and not the freshest either. You can’t hide this even with a drizzle of oil people, focaccia hardens up in minutes rather than hours! Combined with a forgettable patty – don’t bother. 

 

My vote for Bay Area burger goes to the brilliant Plum Bar in OaklandActually (yes, I know, but it’s like their Brooklyn, honest!) but I’ll cover those badlands in another post.

The Nob Hill Grille is up there with my favourite brunch places on Earth. The location is great for the hotels, and the hills provide a brilliant way of walking off the impending feast. My chicken and waffles was absolutely sublime and one of my most memorable breakfasts ever. Only in an American morning would this be considered a thing of decency:

The chicken was deep-fried to absolute crunchy perfection, with a hint of paprika giving some spice. And two huge pieces meant I was sorted all day. The Piglet’s corned beef hash with poached eggs was also enormous. Sit at the bar and watch it all masterfully unfold.

 

 

Hayes Valley is one of my favourite areas in the city to wander around – it’s pedestrian friendly and Hayes Street is an attractive strip of many indie fashion, home and coffee places. A good amount of the shopping is for guys too. When you tire of big department stores, cabbing it between places and dodging piss-sodden bums around Union Square, it's just the tonic. 

Arlequin was our sarnie stop-off here. Brilliant coffees and beers, solid food (meatball sub and spinach and basil pesto grilled cheese) and next door is an excellent wine bar and store.

 

As SF’s hipsterdom epicentre, the Mission hosts some very good dining and boozing options. Mission Cheese I’ve conferred its own glory here, and there are plenty more in another stretch which is walkable and has enough variety to explore. But the area is traditionally (and still is, especially along Mission St rather than more swanky Valencia) the Mexican and Central American hub of the city.

Taqueria Cancun will sling you three massive tacos overflowing with tender carnitas, cheese, beans and other mush. Superb, especially when taken into Knockout next door (who have no kitchen but the best margaritas) – and all for about $7. Note that black beans in the US are often blended into a baby food consistency…I prefer the bite of a discernible bean but to each gringo, their own.

 

Finally, some fancier contemporary food. We ate in an endless procession of worthy and affordable restos  (I would also recommend SPQR, Delfina, Foreign Cinema and Hayes Street Grill) but on this visit, Nopa was my stand-out. 

The menu is contemporary Californian, which is to say that it uses all the local hotshot ingredients (seriously SF, get over the heirloom tomatoes) but primarily in Italian guises and reinventions. There is a wannabe Italian thing going on in California, hence the revolting ‘Tuscan-style’ villas the rich erect, but the climate does lend itself to replicating the food very well. 

Wood-baked butter beans with a breadcrumb and pesto crust was innovative and damn good. Flat bread slices with ham hock, greens and tons of parmesan was a great sharing starter. But why not call it a pizza bianca?

Duck leg with seasonal greens and potatoes had an incredibly sweet and yet mellow jus just beneath the spiced, crispy skin. House-made pappardelle with a humble tomato and spinach sauce was perfect simplicity. 

 

Spinach was no doubt in season on our visit, as it was ubiquitous on menus and specials lists. San Franciscans are a demanding, discerning lot, and with such competition and high standards, it has created one of the best dining scenes on the planet. And I haven’t even touched the surface of the incredible Asian food available…