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 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

Disco Bistro

One of London’s previously unloved and underused gems (and greatest assets) are the dining rooms on the first floor of many pubs. Central London in particular is replete with these, and successes such as Flat Iron, The Young Turks and many more have originated from humble takeovers of such space. It seems win win in this age of crazy rents and start-up costs.

And while Sam Smith's nabbed all of the show-stopping gin palaces long ago, with the right treatment these dining rooms can be incredibly handsome, resplendent with period features and atmosphere.

Disco Bistro in the deepest alleys of the City is one such venture. The ground floor is The Rising Sun pub, still hawking £5 Peronis to yakky, gakky suited boozers but I imagine the dining room was previously sentenced to a servitude of team fish & chips Fridays and not much of note in between.

Bore that I am, I had to try the famous Disco Burger which is conventional enough, with the exception of a mound of beef short rib. However rest assured that the menu at Disco Bistro ranges far beyond wings and burgers, and includes quite grown-up, sophisticated plates, solid fish options and noteworthy creative execution. Doesn’t sound like me though, so wings and burger it was…

My visit was with a group of fellow bloggers, food nuts and SLR shooters, and feedback was unanimously positive across the various dishes ordered. I hasten to add at this stage that we all paid full price for everything.

This merry band enabled me to try a sticky wing as well as my own portion of spicy (both £7). The sticky wings were strongly flavoured with vinegar, yes there was sweetness beneath but the sharp, pickled taste was dominant. This isn’t a criticism for me personally, sour as I am, but it may not be for everyone. I’d say they’d work better as a bar snack.

I did prefer the spicy wings, which weren’t overly hot but had a decent warmth. Flavour was closer to an almost-Asian chilli route than a cayenne pepper/Buffalo recipe, and especially without obligatory blue cheese and crudité support, these more than stood up on their own.

With popularity comes debate, and wing portion size has become a contentious issue on Twitter of late. Not quite Syria or equal marriage, but a crucial topic all the same. At just under £1 per wing, this is up there with MEATliquor for both value and quality..

The burger was excellent too. Value-wise, less so. At £14, this will no doubt send many people running for either the hills or The Hawksmoor (about a 10 min walk, near a Goodman too) but bear with me. The short rib adds a depth of flavour and juice which I don’t think pulled pork experiments have accomplished as well. The patty itself was perfectly cooked to medium rare without any mention prior (plus point) and the practically liquefied cheese oozed everywhere. 

One gripe was the barbecue sauce – not only did it make a mess and derail the architectural integrity of the burger (yes I did just write that) but even worse, it simply wasn’t necessary. The quality of the contents sang through more than confidently without it. Fries were fine, but not remarkable.

On to dessert, and another universal trend of late, the doughnuts. I was a little slow to understand this, much as the whole Krispy Kreme craze baffled me too. They weren’t a step change from supermarket ones at all. And I’m a bit new to the savoury and even meat flavoured versions which Electric Diner among others are now slinging. The oxtail one at Two Nights Only I didn’t enjoy particularly.

Luckily Disco Bistro's hark back to basics in theory, but with contemporary execution. These are gingerbread doughnut balls with a pot of lemon curd for dunking. Fantastic – with the lemon providing freshness and a sharpness to diminish the risk of overt doughiness, and the gingerbread providing a homely warmth to compliment the horrible winter outside. 

Service was friendly and accomplished; our group of 14-odd ‘foodies’ wouldn’t seem the easiest punters on paper, but it all seemed a breeze. One mini gripe was the beer situation. Better bottles please, or deliver pints to upstairs. The service charge should cover that. And another slight disappointment was the vibe itself; perfectly buzzy sure, but not disco enough! I wanted more fun and better music, they could definitely go further with the disco house and the volume. Not thinking Car Wash and wigs here…

I’m not quite sure what the long term plans for Disco Bistro are, as the pub dining room takeover seems to be a springboard rather than a permanent home, so I would implore people to go as soon as they can.

Food – 9/10 

Drink – 6/10 

Service - 8/10 

Value – 7/10 

Tap water tales – 7/10 (jugs provided, not topped up)

Staff Hotness – 8/10 (friendly, pretty waitresses, clued up on the menu)

Kettner's

Much like the idols of the luvvies inside, the magic of Kettner’s is the ability to continually itself reinvent itself and stay current, while maintaining an aloof, ever-present air of Soho grandeur. The current style is as an upmarket bistro or perhaps as a toned down Ivy. Service is smart and relatively formal, with a little extra sense of occasion quite unique for the price bracket.

There is a buzzy bar and three open dining areas, the first of which also has a pianist tinkling away. When I visited, the piano room was empty and diners were being seated in the other spaces, which seemed a bit of a waste. The décor is clean and uncluttered – archetypal wedding place setting meets The White Company. A less verdant Quo Vadis if you will.

Food is fine. Essentially they serve simple ‘bar & grill’ staples with some French bistro touches, such as the beef bourguignon in a dinky copper pan. 

My caprese salad was quite tragic, I have to admit. A couple of cherry tomatoes, excessively cold mozzarella (cow not buffalo I would wager) and some basil pesto rather than leaves. Unless the appearance of rocket is supposed to be the green...? The dish was gone in about five seconds, and with it, my hopes for Kettner’s. Uh-oh. Could this truly be the Emperor’s new clothes; sub-gastropub food or worse, a trussed up Garfunkel’s?

Smoked salmon with blini (which profligate group of diners might they be targeting?) was much better received and my fears abated slightly. 

Our mains (only one pic of three) were all a success as well. The rib-eye steak was a nice piece of meat and well rested. The aforementioned bourguignon had very high praise indeed, and my duck breast was juicy, with crispy skin and perfectly cooked. One snag was that the sauce was a bit watery and didn’t do the job of cutting through nearly as good as a cherry or redcurrant jus might have, and left everything a tad soggy.

We skipped desserts for a pint with Ian Hislop across the road. I liked Kettner’s on balance. The food wasn’t perfect or particularly original, but it was a fairly enjoyable experience given the attentive service and fantastic people watching. If Kettner’s was a stock character, she’d be a reformed prostitute or perhaps a drag queen, with a heart of gold and lipsticked teeth, doling out world-weary advice and strong gin & tonics.

I’d probably return for a big dinner with friends where food is secondary, or a post-theatre sozzle. Much like her clientele, the dignified comebacks, relevance and survival of this boozy old queen will only ever be a boon in an ever-changing Soho. 

Food – 6/10

Drink – 8/10

Service - 9/10

Value – 7/10

Tap water tales – 7/10

Staff Hotness – 8/10

 

Electric Brasserie

Why isn’t West London better in foodie terms? Openings are thin on the ground, and for such a well-travelled and well-heeled populace, the foodie offerings are fairly poor. Soho is booming in foodie terms of course, and East London and SE1 are buoyant too. Eateries are opening all over, so why not here? Maybe because the current residents can still afford the frequent holidays which all this eating out has replaced for the rest of us...

Notting Hill was once like East London, but the edginess was counterbalanced with penniless aristos and a good sized European community, which gave it such an international feel. Whereas East London feels very British, and has international folk admiring and integrating into the vibe, rather than bringing their own.

Notting Hill has the Moroccan and Portuguese of Golborne, it has Garcia, Mr. Christian's... genuine foodie heritage, and The Ledbury at the top end of things is stellar. So why on earth is The Electric still one of the hot spots in W11? 

It’s one of the weak links in the empire for sure. The brasserie is packed daily, but smells like a greasy spoon. The pseudo-Parisian, quasi-McNally bistro menu is tired, and the food lacks flair. Let me caveat this moan by saying that I found the service very professional and slick, and the drinks are great. Price-wise it's reasonable too. But the food isn’t well seasoned or executed at all.

The burger used to be a bit of legend around these parts. But in 2012 you can’t get away with mediocrity in the >£10 burger field any more. Even worse, it’s a £12 burger. And you can get far better for little over half that.

London is awash with post-gourmet burgers; with fastidious thought going into the bun, the cheese and the other accompaniments, let alone the meat. This patty was mealy and heavy on the breadcrumbs. I also wasn't asked how I'd like it cooked, leading to a medium-well husk. And this floury cold bun is more at home in a chain pub in Basildon.

The bar steak-frites was overcooked for medium rare, and the fries – again once a thing of legend – were tasteless. At £15, one should be suspicious I guess. Which is why at this price point, most places will deliver a bavette with much better results.

Fish-wise, there was a choice of sea bream, cod and salmon and this at least did receive some positive feedback. I think the particular one appears cooked to a cinder but the recipient liked it.

The Electric is trading on past glories and disappointingly complacent. But unlike its Soho equivalent, Café Boheme, the quality has deteriorated. And whereas Café Boheme's trad feel can support some louche decay, The Electric's recent modernity cannot. Fundamentally it desperately needs a food revamp; their brunch is no better unless you want a croissant and a bellini…

However, looking at it pragmatically, the buzz is still great, the drinks are good and the people-watching is enough for the crowd to overlook average food as they scope out the room. On second thoughts, perhaps different priorities for Notting Hill’s diners are what keep would-be openings at bay. That and outrageous rents of course.

And to think I made it through a Notting Hill post without bringing in the shambolic Granger & Co, or the ham & cheese toasties masquerading as croque monsieurs scam. Oh.

 

Food – 4/10

Drink – 9/10

Service - 8/10

Value – 6/10

Tap water tales – 8/10

Staff Hotness – 7/10

 

10 Greek Street

Is there anything quite as coveted as a great local restaurant? 

Especially in London, where commuting is a rarely a pleasure, W1 at the weekend is handed over to the Home Counties, and ‘villages’ are fetishised within the sprawl, like estate agent’s fantasies. 

The problem in this era of inflation, crazy property prices and the resulting necessity to live in East London, is that if you don’t live near a Trullo or a Pizarro, you’re bang out of luck. Step forward therefore 10 Greek Street, a new place with a neighbourhood feel but bang in the middle of Soho.

The food is simple stuff. I’m not sure how specifically it’s pitched or envisaged, but I’d say it was Modern European/British. Each dish has barely 3-4 ingredients and is simply presented.

To start, I had the charcutierie platter (£7) from the bar menu. I loved the vintage china which reminded me of those scamps at Foxcroft and Ginger. Some finocchiona, prosciutto and a darker, smokier ham surrounded a treasure trove of caperberries, cornichons and whole garlic cloves.

The Piglet had a ham terrine invention with crusty bread and some accompaniments. It seemed to be mainly fat.

The mains we ordered didn’t have too much to distinguish between them, both around £16. Here is where the simplicity of the menu led to duplication.

The pigeon breast, served with kale and shallots, was quite undercooked. The breast itself was attractive and plump, and it should be rare but that is why the breast filled are usually removed. When on the bone, rare becomes almost alive and the plate resembled a the scene of a massacre. 

Pheasant, served with kale and parsnip puree was a better dish. The pheasant was on the bone but cooked properly, well-seasoned and spatchcocked to enable even charring.

game bird and kale #1

The menu changes frequently though, and a look today shows more variety than our visit, but our friend the kale is still the obligatory green, and there are plenty of dishes consisting of “ingredients 1,2,3 – done”.

Now onto the wine. I’m not quite sure if the person behind the wine list is a charitable, Dionysian soul, or perhaps is oblivious of the going rate of decent plonk in W1, but it’s hugely good value, to the point of cheap.

There are many lovely drops like those Californian Zins that they usually hoard for themselves, Oregon Pinot Noir, and much from across Europe. Loads by the glass at £6 and under, including prosecco and champagne.

game bird and kale #2

The service was a tad scatty early on, but got better throughout the evening, befitting a neighbourhood restaurant. It’s cosy but loud, so Andrew Edmunds will be just fine. The whole place is pretty bloody warm, so in summer up at that bar, you’ll struggle. If they could install big windows that opened out onto the street, that would be brilliant.

Nonetheless we lingered for over 3 hours, plundering the normally aspirational depths of the wine list. I’ll be back and I sincerely hope they stay focused on the food – even if everybody else is too pissed to notice.

And in true Soho style, we skipped dessert and hauled our wino selves down to Gelupo for Central London's best gelato (I still prefer Dri Dri). The lady swore my peach granita and pistachio gelato was a popular combo! I'm not so sure...

Food – 7/10

Drink – 10/10

Service - 7/10

Value – 8/10

Tap water tales – 5/10 (requested twice early on during rubbish service, but carafed and topped up thereafter)

Staff Hotness – 8/10

Les Deux Salons

carrot with your bavette, monsieur?

A quick one on a recent trip to Les Deux Salons, the French bistro which will be known by many as the old Pitcher & Piano by Trafalgar Square. And what a transformation.

The dining room is bold, mature and quite authentically Parisian in style. Or possibly Lyonnais too, I do keep seeing things about Lyon’s culinary scene. Anyway, it’s more simple and less over-stylised like a Café Rouge.

It’s a grand place, with a strong sense of occasion to it. Our meal wasn’t a long one – mains and dessert. And champers, and wine. Fantastic wine list, and I’ll be damned if I can remember what we had but it was certainly good value. Hic!

The rib of beef for two (£22.50) was fantastic. And great value. A generous portion, perfectly charred and even more perfectly pink, and nicely salted. Having had a few lacklustre chateaubriands and sharing steaks in my time, I wasn’t expecting great things, but it was delicious.

Another in our party had the bavette which at £15.50 is approaching the realms of pricier cuts. It inexplicably had a whole, massive carrot which was frankly bonkers. 

 

It was served in a pan with juices aplenty, a thoughtful touch for a cut which usually needs some moisture. Not pre-sliced though, and unless one is a butcher experienced at ‘the grain’, I’ve found bavettes can be less satisfying when you end up mutilating them.

The macaroni with butternut squash and wild mushrooms was creamy, cheesy, rich and indulgent. Veggie tick! And again served in the pan, although punchy at £15.95.

Fries were solid; gratin dauphinois was better (both £3.75). And a luxurious accompaniment to the steak.

At dessert, we had more booze and the cheeseboard. Oh, and the apple tart which was excellent. Nice caramelised apples with some bite left (I hate it too soggy I’m afraid so prefer this style to tarte tatin) and the obligatory scoop of vanilla which cannot fail to enhance a dessert. Much like bacon with a main course. 

But this vanilla was a slice and reminded me of that weird astronaut ice cream.

In terms of clientele, it is a fairly mature place and given the location, there are lots of theatre goers, people taking their London-visiting parents, dates, Euros, work dinners….it’s not Duck Soup or Polpo, but not everywhere has to be so sceney. It’s characterful and quite regal considering what it was. Must be one of the best renovations I’ve ever witnessed. It could have been here for years, if the mirrors were a tad smokier!

The bar possibly isn’t being utilised as well as it could be, or maybe it was just a bit quieter when we were in. Walk-ins and theatre dining are encouraged, but more of a cocktail scene would give this place the edge. It’ll certainly be in for a fight in terms of profile when Balthazar lands on these shores, but the excellent food and service should see it do absolutely fine in the longer term.

Food – 8/10

Drink – 8/10

Service - 9/10

Value – 8/10

Tap water tales – 8/10

Staff Hotness – 7/10

 

Dean Street Townhouse

Bar snacks are important. And I’m not sure why they aren’t generally better, especially in more classic cocktail and hotel type bars. Southern European places generally have plates of meats, cheeses and picky bits, but cocktail bars don’t usually offer much more sustenance than nuts or olives.

Serious grub, such as this absolutely delicious sausage roll, or the tangy Welsh rarebit below (both £6), will keep a drinker drinking when his appetite kicks in and his potential bar spend is on the wane (cynical much?)

At Dean Street Townhouse, I love sitting at the bar and taking in the Soho buzz. They have a great range of drinks and the service is top notch. I’ve eaten fully here a few times, and sadly have found the menu a little spiritless. I completely appreciate the intention, but there is no flourish, colour or joy with much of it. Cross the road to Bistro du Vin for a more passionate kitchen, but linger here for the booze and the bar accompaniments to soak it up.

 

Penks

Penks is a diminutive local restaurant on the main drag of Queens Park. I’ve eaten here a few times, and it’s not a bad neighbourhood option. The menu plays it safe although the wine list is quite interesting, and they seem to offer quizzes, happy hours and other events to engage with the locale, and break the oligopoly of ‘The Salusbury’ enterprises.

The starters are a strong area here; as well as a few predictable dishes, they offer some more sociable charcuterie and cheese plates, which suit their passion for unusual wines. A mention also has to go to their carefully edited US craft ales.

spanish charcuterie plate

Rib-eye and chips is a bit disappointing. The meat isn’t a particularly great cut and the chips are quite standard. They could be oven chips, or ‘steak cut’ chips – it comes with a salad garnish including iceberg lettuce and grated carrots! This is Queens Park – drag yourselves into the Naughties, at bare minimum, with some rocket/bay spinach/lamb’s lettuce and vine tomatoes! It had a touch of Harvester about it.

The guinea fowl was a bit more interesting, in rich sauce and with seasonal vegetables. Penks also seem to succeed at fish dishes; there are several starters and mains and these seem exhibit more culinary smarts and daring.

guinea fowl

Although I love the idea of neighbourhood restaurants, I have a few problems with Penks.

I want to like it, and I think they’re missing a few tricks especially given such a prime spot. Queens Park is a chi chi little enclave, and the menu is conversely, quite parochial. There are no specials, not enough localism or provenance and the décor is quite bland. This contrasts with the bonkers music and hideous art to combine quite a bizarre atmosphere. Service is erratic too – it’s nice that this is family run, but it could still be professional in feel.

creamy fish concoction

If I was to recommend a few things for this place, they'd be to shamelessly imitate somewhere like The Electric: brunch drinks and more contemporary brunch offering, a NY/faux Parisian style menu with a strong typeface, good music, lower lighting, more specials (including some pastas), modernise the interior, and try to encourage people to come for, and stick around for, the drinks. The atmosphere is a bit dated and subdued, and they’re missing quite a significant slice of the urbane, flashy, hungry and very thirsty types who populate these sides.

A neighbourhood restaurant could do one of a few things: focus on excellent food (La Trompette, at the highest end), or an intimate atmosphere (Ripe Tomato perhaps) or it could be cheap and cheerful, like Small & Beautiful nearby in Kilburn. But Penks doesn’t excel in any of these fields particularly, which seems like a wasted opportunity.

Food – 5/10 

Drink – 8/10

Service - 5/10 (the waitress forgot a few things)

Value – 7/10  (£40 a head with wine, reasonable but at the upper end of it)

Tap water tales – 8/10 (cold glasses brought without asking, mineral not proffered)  

Staff Hotness – 5/10