Casse-Croûte

Casse-Croûte is a relatively new French bistro, bang in the middle of that strip of foodie escapism, Bermondsey Street. Sure, you can have a very London experience in either of the opposing boozers, but Jose and Pizarro can whisk you away to Madrid, Village East to New York and Zucca to Milan. Although I always find Zucca has a New York feel too. And Village East is getting a long overdue refurb, so who knows.

 

But anyway, the point remains that Bermondsey Street is like being on holiday. A sophisticated, epicurean update of the pulling holiday’s ubiquitous ‘bar street’, only it’s for people with slightly more money and slightly less flesh on show. Slightly. And ironically, more actual Europeans than the Brit-infested resorts.

Casse-Croûte (might as well persist with the accent) is the cookie-cutter charming neighbourhood place of your dreams, to a fault. It vaguely reminded me of The Little Owl in that regard. The welcome and exuberance are en francais, but they were far warmer than any I’ve received in France. And yes, that includes outside of Paris.

Food? Well, we ate an awful lot. Before the starters, charcuterie sliced to order mere inches from our heads accompanied a crisp cremant. A nice menu touch, as too often (even in French places) the non-champagne option is prosecco – not to be sniffed at of course, but some beautiful fizz comes from The Loire too.

To start, a garlicky sausage and onion jam laden brioche (a posh sausage roll and no less for it). Excellent. As for the others’ dishes, to be honest I can’t actually remember as we were already rolling in the aisles.

Blame the handsome staff for turning our table of gals and gays a tad bawdy (the raging horn, in fact) or that seductively thirsty combination of food, open windows and a warm summer night – but we had a very good time.

On to mains, a huge, beautiful platter of roast lamb was shared. I had a pork dish I wasn’t familiar with but it was a massive, house-made sausage in a rich broth of cannellini beans and vegetables.

So, sausage rolls and then sausage and beans. Very cosmopolitan, me.

I can barely remember leaving, but we did share amongst other things an amazing strawberry and pistachio tart. One wine followed the other as we glugged from Loire to Rhone, and they were all delicious.

I absolutely loved Casse-Croûte. The only issue with its quality, vibes and ever-changing menu is that my every attempt to return has failed miserably. One for the little black book yes, but the secret’s out.

The Crooked Well

Amble down from the madness of Denmark Hill station towards Camberwell and you might double take at your surroundings. The grandeur of Camberwell Grove, faded in parts, undimmed in others, is well-known, but parallel Grove Lane is more of a hidden gem. 

And believe me, having recently made the pilgrimage down to SE5 (responsible for your humble correspondent's brief hiatus), I ensure every single visitor witnesses it, hopefully distracted from the lively folk of the Maudsley, just behind.

That rarest of London phenomena; a pristine, un-Blitzed terrace of Georgian houses with a comfortable ten metres of croquet-ready lawn frontage, it should by rights be somewhere far more salubrious. By the same logic, so too should The Crooked Well, a relaxed yet upscale pub dining room – but they both seem to fit in just fine.

The term gastropub doesn’t mean anything much in 2013, and it’s lazy at best. In fact it’s odious. But I’m sure it would be bandied about here; ostensibly just a pub where dining comes before boozing. Perfectly ok here, as there are plenty of nearby boozers and often the contrast of ‘finer’ dining and quality service in pubby environs makes for a more relaxed experience. 

From The Oak in Notting Hill to Fulham's  Harewood Arms, it's evident that the exoskeleton of a pub can reassure many who'd sweat profusely in a stuffier venue about cutlery etiquette or how to react when that sign of quality, the metal crumb scraper comes out. Clue: it's less awkward than lazing around the house while the cleaner is grafting away. 

Food is modern British, not wildly adventurous but definitely a step up from a tarted up pub menu. There are three dishes for two to share; a fish pie, a Côte de Boeuf and the masterful rabbit & bacon pie. And yes, it really requires two people.

Other highlights included picanha steak, pata negra, a cocktail of the day with charitable donation and a list of strictly French apertifs, unique in eschewing those ubiquitous red and orange bitters of Milan. The cheeseboard is impressive too.

I’m trying to resist being too effusive, but it’s just really rather good here. Service is attentive and well-informed but laid back, warm bread is offered more than once, and the chips are bloody excellent. There is little more satisfying than well-executed simplicity, and The Crooked Well balances its uncomplicated quality with a hint of refinement to work for most occasions. Except perhaps a raucous knees-up.

Crucially both the (briefly) idyllic setting and the pub itself are absolutley perfect for that South East London parental charm offensive, when they’re wondering what on earth possessed you to move here. Cue astonishment and relief as they walk through the door; places like this are exactly why I won’t be going anywhere for a long time.

 

Bay Area and Sonoma

Of the many people who visit San Francisco, and certainly those from the UK, I imagine very few experience much of Oakland. And generally I would say it’s a place you need a reason to visit (family in my case), but it also has a few highlights especially for foodies.

Manhattan has its Brooklyn, and San Francisco has the Mission. There isn’t too much to contest there. But Oakland is striking out in a more balanced way. There are hipsters sure, but also plenty of baby-booming ex-hipsters and yuppies who simply can’t afford any space in SF. Oakland has always been a very black city, and suffers from social issues in certain parts, but interestingly there is also a large black middle class population which adds a different element to the place.

Plum Bar and Restaurant is on a small but perfectly formed strip running down from the CBD towards the Lake. Here I had my best burger of this trip to the US, following a recommendation from SF Gate. It was a flawless clash of textures; a beautifully rich, soft patty cooked rare but with some bite, and topped with an incredible Alpine concoction of caramelised onions and cheese. The spicy fries were among the best I've had too.

This burger is 2 mins walk from the BART and easily worth the 15 minute ride from Market Street. The bar itself had superb drinks and funky décor (check the elaborate network of suspended tea lights and plum mural).

 

Next door is a sloppy but delicious Mexican joint: La Bonita Taqueria. As I mentioned on my SF post, I find the black beans and general US Mexican food a bit more mushy and plonked than the food I’ve had in Mexico itself. It is American’s comfort food, and could easily be apportioned through a drip. 

This explosion of enchiladas was exactly what this hungover little pig needed, but at this Mexican equivalent of a greasy spoon there was nothing delicate going on. 

 

My absolute food highlight of the trip, and I would say best of 2012 was the B Side BBQ. This is a barbecue joint owned by the same people as the famous Brown Sugar Kitchen, one of the sceniest brunches in the Bay Area. We sadly couldn’t get a table there (which looked FANTASTIC) but they referred us here,

I wonder if the team from Pitt Cue have been here? It’s BBQ but done in a modern way, with bourbon cocktails, succinct menus and bar seating. The food was outstanding. 

 

My Dark & Stormy St Louis ribs were the most tender, flavourful and juicy I’ve ever had. Amazing. Worth the 11 hour flight alone. Sides were also outstanding; brilliant Texas toast with a meaty dipping sauce, good pickles and dense, rich beans to die for. The pics don't do justice to the size of these dishes, they were enormous.

My sister’s baby back ribs with pineapple salsa were equally lauded, accompanied with creamy mac. Her  boyfriend’s pulled pork sandwich was the same - they live in Oakland and said it was the best meal they’d had yet. 

It’s in a rather ‘characterful’ part of Oakland (think burning oil drums in Homer & Eddie) but I couldn’t recommend it more. Come in a cab. Straight from SF airport. And then fly home, happy.

Onwards from Oakland, as one must. Many visiting the Bay Area strike out towards Monterey and Big Sur, or perhaps to Yosemite. A fair few head to Napa wine tasting, but an even wiser few choose Sonoma instead.

Healdsburg is the spiritual home of the Sonoma wineries, and definitely worth the drive. It’s barely an hour from the Bay and its quaint, walkable centre set around a green square makes a pleasant change from auto-centric California. There are numerous twee interiors shops but a serious amount of wine bars and tasting rooms. Many of the wineries have their tasting rooms in town – it’s ideal as you don’t have to worry about driving and can do a crawl.

It’s a tad sneaky too, because common practice in this region is to use grapes from dispersed sites. So as their sources are scattered around (with some scandalously coming from Napa?!) it means their main premises may not be impressive. Hence the town locations.

My winery recommendation is the Portalupi team, who quite refreshingly work with Italian grapes such as Barbera and Sangiovese, rather than the ubiquitous Cabernets and Merlots. Also try Woodenhead and their punchy, booze-filled Pinot Noirs provide a bulkier twist on this grape associated with Ribena transparency and easy guzzling.

In Healdsburg it’s easy to get wine fatigue. Seems ridiculous but it’s all anybody talks about. Step forward Bear Republic –self-appointed state craft brewery and playfully jingoistic with it.

Their Racer 5 beer is relatively well known, and can be found in London, but some rare and riotously strong IPAs can be found here. Food is resplendently London 2012 in its natural habitat – all chicken wings, mac & cheese and more filth and dirt than you could ever wish for. The chilli bread bowl was particularly impressive slush. Not to mention the garlic fries....

 

Healdsburg is a genteel place however, so beyond California’s best brews, showy food and cocktails are expected too. This is not Paso Robles – the Sonoma apple has not rolled as far from the Napa tree as Sonoma folk would like to think - there is plenty of fine dining. We chose Spoonbar, where the cocktails were beautiful and the bar snacks dainty. Who would have thought chicken crackling with drops of buttermilk could be so fantastic!

 

There is more gush in this post, and its San Francisco twin than I am usually comfortable with. There was an analogy concerning female elephants somewhere but I thought better of it. My avid readers (hi mum!) wouldn’t approve.

Suffice it to say that San Francisco and the Bay Area has some of the best, most diverse and sustainable eating and drinking on the planet. Far more as a region and hinterland than New York I would say. The localism of both wine and produce means food frenzy has spread across the whole region and people are genuinely obsessed. I’d say that isn’t the case with New York which is, much like London, a beacon shining out to the wider world, but casting shadow upon the chains and mediocrity surrounding it.

Bar Tozino

With neither a brioche bun or chashu slice in sight, Bar Tozino has burst onto the Maltby Street scene with huge success. Upon my visit at Saturday lunchtime it was absolutely rammed, with many more retreating upon peeking through the door, defeated and crestfallen. For the lucky ones, a real treat awaits.

Cava at a mere £4 a glass was light, fruity and yet complex, tasting closer to a prosecco and unlike many rough, astringent cavas I’ve had over the years. The food, as becomes immediately apparent when looking around you (here meat is indeed curtains) is focused on the exalted jamon iberico.

Cured ham hasn’t been a luxury ingredient in the UK for many a year, and having been wrapped around countless melons, sitting within limp paninis or adorning overpriced pizzas drowning in rocket, isn’t as excited as perhaps it once was. But as a luxury foodstuff, the Spanish have elevated the best legs to a crazy premium and prices of the best iberico can be outrageous.

Bar Tozino succeeds in enabling the best to be affordable and accessible. The menu features a selection of four hams ranging between £5-15 for a small plate, with sourdough con tomate. We had the Huelva bellota (which means acorn-fed, the best) and it was smooth, deep and frankly beautiful. You know it’s special when you’re even craving just the silky fat.

There are a few obvious menu bedfellows to the ham, such as some absolutely delicious acorn-fed chorizo (£5) and cheeses such as manchego or more pan con tomate, but there is also the odd surprise, such as the delicate egg atop bread and a ham and chorizo mix, served in a tapa bowl.

The interior is dark and sultry (or dingy if you don’t like railway arches) but it’s a superb use of the space, especially for the functional hanging of many ham legs overhead. There is a deli counter and separate menu for ‘take away’ which reminded me of the ham ‘bar’ at Iberico on Great Portland Street.

The vibe is pretty riotous – this is not a place for the shy and retiring. It’s loud, crowded and fairly uncomfortable (three types of stools ensure an inconsistent level of comfort – avoid the tiny ones) with staff clamouring to fit through the crowds and deliver the coveted boards and drinks.

Bar Tozino was fantastic, and possibly a victim of its own early success. I was told that later in the afternoon (once most of Maltby/Ropewalk has died down) it’s a lot more relaxed and people settle down for a good ham and booze session, rather than the flighty visit we had. 

I’ll be back again and again – the food was unadulterated pleasure, the booze great and you can easily imagine being in somewhere in Barcelona's Born or Raval districts. I'm extremely grateful for something unique on 2012-13 London’s bandwagon-y, predictable foodie landscape. Not to mention adding to quite an already impressive Mediterranean cluster of Zucca, Jose, Pizarro and Antico.

Here’s hoping for more openings in 2013 with as much originality, authenticity and flair.

 

Mission Cheese, San Francisco

My goodness this place is special.

Located on Valencia Street (which is among the best foodie strips and clusters in SF, along with Hayes and Fillmore) it’s an ode to cheese but in a bar environment. San Francisco is a town of boozers who like their bars divey and old school. Chat with bartenders is the norm and even the most dumpy looking bars will offer decent cocktails and top shelf spirit brands to make this Brit blush with Gordon’s shame.

Mission Cheese is set up like that normal US bar, focus centred on the physical bar itself but with some tables dotted around too. But the catch here is that behind the bar features huge fridges of cheese and charcuterie, rather than beers and wine. Well, that’s not completely true as the booze is important here too (had a fantastic Russian River pinot), but this is a cheese bar, if there ever was such a thing.

In addition to cheese flights (and meat ones too) all manner of cheesy creations are offered – raclette, toasted cheese sandwiches (aka ‘grilled cheese’), macaroni cheese and some off menu rarebit. And much more. 

I loved the presentation (individual knives for different cheese types), cornichons quite rightly, and the extra fruits, including some amazing semi-dried apricots and figs. All local of course – the Bay Area is impressively and yet tediously pedantic in bashing you with the provenance of even the humblest lettuce, to the detriment of any brevity in their menus. Like anybody knows the virtue of farmer X versus farmer Y...

Decor is great. The green tiles and fun mural against the moody Edison lighting provide a slight twist on a predictable hipster theme - that of the Saw bathroom and distressed, bevilled tiling.

Service is fantastic as are staff, and they’re hugely knowledgeable. I’ve a weakness for gruyère and other nutty Alpine cheeses, and sheepy pecorinos, and the waitress was able to match these perfectly with US cheeses. Mission Cheese is certainly a vindication for the stereotype that American cheese doesn’t go beyond its eponymous burger slice.

If you’re in San Francisco, Mission Cheese is an absolute must. Up there with the best establishments I visited in 2012, and needed in a dynamic and yet innovation-stalled London scene asap.

  

Tuscanic

Tuscanic is a rather smart deli, sarnie stop and wine bar on Old Compton Street. It's quite an unlikely new opening for the area these days, but a smart nod to the area’s Italian heritage, intentional or not.

They specialise in meats and cheeses, either in paninis or focaccias, or as platters to be had with wine. It’s quiet and could probably do with some music, but the vibe is nice. There is a quaint, artisanal feel to nibbling on hams and cheeses with be-aproned Italians carving away amongst jars of ever-unsold, overpriced pestos. 

Our mixed selection at about £18 came with a huge dish of ricotta and some bread too. The part sheep, part goat cheese was a highlight, although salty chunks of parmesan and nutty pecorino always hit the spot too. Hits on the meat front were the delicious fennel-scented folds of finocchiona and pepper-specked salami. I was less keen on the slices of beef terrine which were more Pedigree Chum than Piedmont, but never mind.

The wine selection is Northern Italian dominated, and pretty good value for W1. We were on the prosecco so I didn’t try any Super Tuscans. Crowd is mixed: plenty of gays on first dates which are quite fun to spy on, and multitudes of Italian tourists and expats, who being Italian typically only like Italian things.

It sounds a bit TripAdvisor and provincial to say so, but Tuscanic does feel ‘continental’ and despite the staid vibes, is a refreshingly different place to come. We could do with more Roman-style enotecas which offer snacks on barrels, wine tastings and the like.

I suspect this is the sort of gaff the Licencing Act 2003 assumed we’d be in, sipping wine and pinkie waving up and down the country post-theatre, the Act itself having probably been written during a romanticised Chiantishire stupor. Never mind that we’re only doing this in 2013 in Soho then. But progress all the same...

Zoilo

In this tidal wave of dirty burgers, filthy dogs, chicken shacks and other ‘dude food’ (I know), it’s quite refreshing for something a little different and original to open up. And probably good business, as the fatigue sets in - even my Mum is bored reading burger reviews. Step forward Zoilo, an Argentine food-led bar in Marylebone...

Having visited Buenos Aires recently which I am still crashing on about (and resolutely, smugly pronouncing as 'Aye-rez'), I wanted to recreate the experience, namely the food and booze. Which is pretty much the core of my experience anywhere on my travels. Or at home for that matter.

A couple of earth-shattering facts: Zoilo isn’t a steak house. And yes, there is Argentine food which isn’t steak. It may only serves as a precursor to the main meat event, but it does exist.

We had one of each of the empanadas – punchy at £3.50 each but perfectly sizeable to share. In addition to beef and olive, they do spinach and pine nut, and chicken and cumin. I wasn’t sure about all the flour on top which was drying and reminded me of talc on a baby's bum.

House salami and pickles was absolutely delicious. A selection of three different salamis were thickly cut and served with a variety of pickled veg. Again at £8.50, this dish stood out among better value sharing plates.

Chorizo was sold out on our visit sadly, as was the pork belly.

Chips ‘Provencal’ (about £3) were one of the big revelations from my BA trip. Crunchy, double fried chips drenched in chimichurri – fantastic. Absolutely worth the French breath and green teeth.

And boys being boys, of course we did share the larger ojo de bife at about £20. It came laden with a chimichurri-type marinade, but heavier on the chilli than the parsley. This seasoning was heavy, but very tasty. The actual beef was of good quality too – such an expanse of flavour could easily be covering up a sub-standard bit of meat, but no worries there.
 

Drinks-wise, there are some cocktails but Zoilo is best for trying Argentine wines – they have a great selection by the glass including the usual Malbecs but also some northern Cabs and a brilliant Patagonian Pinot Noir. They average about £7.50 a glass so it can quickly add up.

 

Service was keen and the food was good quality. However, it’s effectively an Argentine small plates resto of the Polpo or Duck Soup school, so as ever beware of that bill. It tots up quite easily and I’m not I was sufficiently stuffed for the £62 per head I was relieved of (without dessert or coffee). 

For that kind of money, I should be rolling out of there; screaming at cars, howling at the moon, oblivious to my impending gout and cirrhosis.

One final point, possibly the most irritating as it’s the most moronic. The stools are about 2 inches too short for the bar. So don’t sit at the bar; it’s infuriating and ruins what otherwise is a great perch. Easily fixed, so sort it out Argies. And get some measuring tape for next time… 

Food – 8/10 

Drink – 8/10 

Service - 8/10 

Value – 6/10 

Tap water tales – 6/10

Staff Hotness - 8/10

24 Hours in Buenos Aires

Depending on the day, work wavers between being a complete bitch, a tolerable means to an end, or at best, an investment into what bankrolls the other aspects of your life. But occasionally it can deliver the goods. In my case, the opportunity to visit Argentina for a meeting and to spend a day and night in Buenos Aires,

What always drew me in was the crumbling fading colonial and the post-colonial nationalist grandeur and scale of the place; all beautifully weathered mansions and outrageous Soviet-style monuments. Traditions, etiquette and State co-exist with mayhem, anarchy and not a small dose of frontier wildness. And foremost among its appeals are the red meat and the wine.

I deliberately avoided seeing too much of the city, and much to my chagrin I was actually working a fair amount too, so my time was limited to the Palermo Soho area. This area was (lazily) described as a Soho of Buenos Aires, but I found it quite different. It does have many bars and restaurants, but it’s also very heavy on the high-end fashion and design retail which was fun to explore. However it didn’t have the critical mass or workaday feel that Soho’s studios, agencies and offices add to the mix, so it felt a little quiet during the day,

The retail itself was impressive; plenty of imaginatively kitted out stores which seemed to be free of the shackles of planning restrictions and plenty of outdoor dining options. And vertical gardens everywhere. There weren’t many global chains actually, which I imagine could be due to the currency and entry barriers involved (boring) – but this meant the fashion was a little bit more unique than visiting a European or US city, albeit mimicking global trends all the same. 

My epic meal was at La Cabrera, a famous asado place in the neighbourhood. It was absolutely fantastic. Bottle after bottle of red wine slushed down (big thumbs up for Argentine working lunches!) to accompany the most vast range of meat I’ve ever encountered.

The chorizo sausage was outstanding. It is different to Spanish chorizo, closer to a conventional sausage, with less piquancy. The picture is ridiculously phallic, of course. 

This was the only dish served with chimichurri which was a surprise as I thought it was a traditional accompaniment to steak primarily.

We shared it between three, as the sweetbreads, fillet and sirloin (there is another of the same size underneath) came out in a never-ending onslaught of meat. 

 

I was absolutely debilitated afterwards, but in the best possible way. They also provide countless sides of pickled vegetables, chimichurri fries, tomatoes and salad. We could only face a Chupa Chups for dessert, as we rolled out. Superb meal, and I look forward to returning to try the many other traditional and not so traditional temples to grilled meat one day.

My hotel was the Ultra Boutique Hotel. I’m often suspicious of anywhere which describes itself as a boutique hotel, as any old shithole does these days, but this was very close to the market. The room was huge, with a massive, incredibly comfortable bed and beautiful, stained parquet floors. Bathroom was a metro-tiled New York style, with house-made products. 

The communal areas served as a meeting space and bar for the local area too – although I managed to get a picture of it deserted. Breakfast was a stylish display of bell jars containing fruit, cured meats, cheeses and treats such as brownies. For less than £100 a night, this place was an absolute gem. There is a rooftop pool and courtyard bar also, but the weather wasn’t quite on my side for those.

I forced myself to have dinner although I could barely walk, even six hours later, and another (much smaller) steak at Minga did the job. Plenty more Malbec among the snogging couples (Buenos Aires’ displays of affection are not subtle) and a good steak confirmed all my preconceptions. 24 hours was enough for my tick list of steak and wine, but also to see a whole lot more. 

Design conscious retail, bold street art, independent businesses, lovely service, lush greenery, clear high skies and strange stars, Buenos Aires was a fantastic place to visit, however briefly. I can’t wait to return to explore the rest of the city outside the calm of Palermo, the wine country and the wilderness of Patagonia, itself an outpost of Monterey-style Pinot Noirs.

BA is beside the Rio de la Plata - an endless sea of sludge