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.

 

The Clove Club

On a stellar trajectory and with much goodwill, the team from Upstairs at The Ten Bells have opened a second venture. The Clove Club is within the old Shoreditch Town Hall; a modern space fronting Old Street and a step change from their pub-luxe origins.

Imaginative renditions of classic cocktails and heightened service levels formalise the experience further. My companions - Chris from All Things Meaty, @scouserachel on Blonde duties and her friend Hannah, were therefore reasonably excited and hopeful.

Food comes as a five-course tasting menu for £47. Theoretically, this appears quite reasonable compared to others especially with their starry reputation. And some finer dining is certainly welcome in these parts. But as we embarked upon the meal, it quickly unravelled.

Radishes with black sesame seeds and gochuchang (Korean mayo) were dramatic enough in presentation. The premise to dip in mayo and then the sesame seeds would stick, I suppose. However the radishes weren’t particularly flavourful and the mayo even less so. I’m not sure how anything could be less Korean-tasting.

Buttermilk fried chicken thigh pieces in basket of pine needles and cones. Dainty enough, and cheap so surely a reasonable portion size? Wrong, it was absolutely miserly. Thigh is cheap too. The apparent ‘pine salt’ was absent upon tasting, so this was basically a lone bite of posh KFC popcorn chicken in a basket of Christmas tat. It tasted fine as most freshly fried chicken does, but was another (and not the last) Emperor’s New Clothes dish of the night.

Cheese Biscuits, Curd and Stems were another oddity. Take the teeniest cheese straws from an M&S wrapper, halve them again and add a dollop of admittedly tasty curd. The upside was that they looked like Frazzles; the downside was that I’d rather have had a 50p bag of those.

Onto the clanger of the night. And even with the above dishes, it did get worse. Enter stage left a massive plate of fennel, with a rancid topping of purple seaweed and the odd walnut. The fennel was steamed but with little seasoning. The seaweed wasn’t a delicate addition of marine flavour, but that of a rotten beach. Possibly with a week-old whale carcass astride it, encircled by carrion feeders and covered in bird shit.

Swiftly looking forward after our table of four unanimously decried the fennel course as ‘total bollocks’, the leek and mussels course wasn’t too different. Yes it had smoked mussels dotted about, but we could not escape the feeling that this was one massive (cheap) steamed veg plate after another. The leek was in its entirety, so the outer layer was an obstacle. For the two diners in our group not eating shellfish, some mini pickled onions were added.  Again, a disappointing show of austerity and blandness.

 

Rib of beef was delicious. To be clear here, I wanted to like The Clove Club. I walked in with no prejudices or grudges, and I have no ideological hipster or age issues; I probably am a hipster by varying definitions. So this isn’t a hatchet job (or a predetermined one anyway).

It genuinely was a fantastic dish. The beef was exquisitely cooked, the potato batons were fantastic although predictably sparse, and the juices were meaty and full of flavour. A larger dish of that and a rework of the menu concept would have people coming back to eat. I’d be keen to see how many return visitors they get, and how quickly the menu is rewritten.

Desserts were very good; blood orange is never a bad thing and the seasonal badge of honour remains intact. It was served alongside sheep’s milk mousse and more bloody fennel. Perhaps a cruel joke.

Another mousse (more Masterchef shenanigans) was great – ginger this time, adding some long overdue heat to the sweetness and acid from the ‘warm cider’. 

Finally there was a chicory tea cake which we were almost denied. It was given as if a freebie, although it was on the menu. To be honest, we didn’t give a fuck by this point. Speculation was rife about snacks to follow, or even a Meat Mission trip…

The meal did progressively improve, granted but if you serve a trio of starters and two terrible courses, by that point your diners are despondent and disinterested. The beef picked us back up, with some seriously tasty desserts to support that, but then the bill comes along, slaps you in the face and holds that mirror up to your mug-inscribed reflection.

We declined the offer to buy some off-menu cheese, at a hefty surcharge. Wise at this point, just like clockwork we sat back and observed pitiful portions being conveyed off to some other less sceptical mugs. Nothing more than upselling.

I have no idea what this was. Experimentation? Kitchen skills A-Z? A midnight allotment ransacking? I don’t need a concept or direction (although I’m sure some abstract nonsense exists in a PR somewhere) – but I didn’t understand this at all, and some cohesion would provide some context. There was no zing, or spice, or richness, or seasoning, or frankly any excitement in any way.

The clientele, haircuts and tailoring are not what’s wrong with this place, nor is the space or technique. It’s the onanistic boys’ club menu concerned more with culinary adventures than with taste. 

Food – 4/10 

Drink – 9/10 

Service - 7/10 

Value – 5/10 

Tap water tales – 5/10 (filtered charged nominally, but sparkling too) 

Staff Hotness – 8/10 - our watiress was pretty and friendly. Front of house and bar staff are very natty. 

April Bloomfield at St John Hotel

What to say about April Bloomfield and her two night residency at St John Chinatown?

In some ways, it was like being reunited with an old friend. But also it could herald very exciting things for the future.

April is a British chef from the River Café school, but her name has been made in New York. The Spotted Pig ‘gastro-pub’ in the Village, followed by John Dory and The Breslin within the Ace Hotel. Much like McNally, she’s carved a following among more food-obsessed Brits as she’s charmed New York, but has remained largely unknown in her homeland.

Her star dish is the Spotted Pig burger, a sloppy expanse of perfectly pink meat and gooey blue cheese, and the iconic rosemary matchstick fries. I first had it in about 2004, long before anything in London was edible away from ethcni or fine dining, let alone the burger mania of late. We spoke about it for years afterwards; the mess it created, the decadence, those amazing fries… could it now be coming to London?

April’s one dud I had at The Breslin a few years back. It was a fatty rancid rolled pig’s leg; basically a $50 battered sausage with pork pie gelatine. I was anxious I'd be facing that again, it's definitely to be avoided…

So I was a bit nervous about the menu, as her Breslin dishes are quite challenging in terms of nose to tail, but relief set in as the burger was leaked.

Starters were a fantastic haddock chowder and a creamy dish of gnudi with sage and brown butter. Both were excellent, and reasonably priced. I was pleased overall, as April could probably have charged a hugely expensive set price for the novelty, and it would still have been packed.

Rabbit with fennel and bacon was an interestingly flavoured dish. Very contemporary in that meat/fish + two ingredients formula seen at 10 Greek Street, Copita or Duck Soup, it would be bang on trend in an April London resto.

And on to the burger… 

Feelings of fondness and nostalgia for our first trip to New York together (and my first being over 21), have clearly been a powerful thing. Not because there was anything wrong with the burger: it was brilliantly cooked and tasted great.  But between 2004 and today, I’ve had so many great burgers (as any regular reader would groaningly attest) that it’s hard to exalt one above the many others. 

Underwhelmed would be too far, but there was that slight anticlimactic feeling of revisiting a childhood favourite film and finding it a bit meh. It wasn’t bad; it was very good, but London isn’t the foodie desert it once was. Especially where New York imitation comes in...

What irony where a Brit trailblazes in New York, creates a archetypal dish for that city, and upon repatriation is just a few years too late, and returns to a foodie landscape where aping New York is now honed to perfection.

£16.50 is about ok for the burger given the style of the event, but that price point for a permanent fixture of April’s would be inadvisable, given the range of burger between £7-12 in this town.

The red carpet was firmly rolled out for April (the restless, sceney dining room was littered with yappy C-listers like the F-Word, and not an insignificant velvet following), and I’m sure London could fall for her understated, accessible charm.

I remember being so excited about Bill Granger in London (more nostalgia from Sydney) and being let down...is his Notting Hill hellhole still going? I very much hope April doesn’t go the same way as greedy Granger, should she decide to venture a London resto.

She is far from a one-trick pony, and I have faith in her adventurous yet simple cooking, but reputation is everything, and a 2013 London cannot be conquered by blue cheese burger alone…

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

 

Hawksmoor (Guildhall)

In theory, a steakhouse (or steak joint I suppose is closer) in the City fills me with dread. Sweaty blokes with napkins down their shirts, sleeves rolled up, entitlement coursing around the room, dropping 2-large on Chateau Something on bonus day…stupid stereotypes of course, but a far cry from W1 indeed. But needs must and finding myself on a Friday evening near St Paul's and hankering for steak, I was suddenly spoilt for choice.

not my usual dining partner

I’m not a huge fan of late dining in malls (in this continent anyway) so Barbecoa was out. And Goodman I thought might be a touch staid in their City location, so it was over to the devil I know, at Hawksmoor Guildhall.

The space is pretty much identical to Seven Dials. A grand sweep downstairs, a sultry moody bar and through to a large dining room with low lighting and wood panelling. The room feels more spacious, and more symmetrical in a way. The industrial aspects of Seven Dials’ brewery heritage are absent here. But it’s ostensibly the same.

yes, it is a negroni, and yes it is 2012

The food is the same too. We had 900g of Porterhouse which came to £76. It was perfectly cooked and wonderfully smoky, and we happily coped without sauces, but there just wasn’t quite enough of it. For £76, I shouldn’t be peckish. At all. You really are paying a lot for a massive bone, as it were…

pricey bone

Wines, cocktails and sides are all fantastic here and have been extensively covered, including by me previously. Service was keen and clued up. And the crowd on a Friday night wasn’t too dissimilar to any other location of theirs – yes some suits, but a real mix with plenty of women and people in civvies. During the week I’m sure it’s different, but I can’t complain really as this is their turf. I just hate feeling underdressed.

In short, this is more of the same, but no worse for it. However I’d stick to the £30 bone-in sirloin which at 600g represents much better value that the shared cuts – where you need to hit a kilo (and spend a ton) to debilitate yourself suitably.

Food – 9/10

Drink – 9/10

Service - 8/10

Value – 7/10

Tap water tales – 9/10

Staff Hotness – 8/10

 

Ginger & White (Soho)

Ginger & White have opened their third outlet in a little alleyway in Soho. It’s in a familiar position to the  original alleyway spot in Hampstead, come to think of it, but does feel a little more relaxed, and with markedly less buggies.

These guys have been a saviour in Hampstead for quite a while now. For such an affluent, pleasant area, it’s always been quite devoid of interesting eating and drinking options, and certainly coffee. Yes, every chain is there, and yes there are a few independent fusty old timer restos lurking, but Hampstead’s offerings are generally not as good as they should be.

Enter Ginger & White, about three years ago, their twist on the Antipodean-inspired coffee revolution being that whilst the coffee ethos was firmly in the Down Under mould, the rest of the business was British and proud. Cue lots of Union Flags, scones, teas, sausage rolls and so forth. Coffee credit where it’s due, but our baked goods are far superior to Australia’s and New Zealand’s, and yes I’m including pies.

But Soho is quite a different beast, and not a small pond. There is decent coffee in every direction. Within a two minute walk from this location, there is Fernandez and Wells (x2), Café Gourmand, Speakeasy, Foxcroft & Ginger, Flat White, Sacred, Fairgrounds, Joe & The Juice, vida e caffé and countless others just a tad further afield. Not to mention that weird, intimidating bookshop/café diagonal from here full of yappy luvvies and their yappy dogs. 

So it’s a tough market where only quality and something different pass muster, – but it’s a big market too. On the whole, I think Ginger & White should be a success here.

It’s cosy in a way that Fernandez & Wells’ starkness doesn’t provide, so I can foresee people lingering over cake. It's not sceney like Flat White, and the staff are very welcoming. The food offering is excellent and varied – many of the better coffee shops offer fancy £6 sandwiches with fancy ingredients, but Ginger & White’s bacon and cheese scone is a true destination piece of grub.

And crucially, its long black is perfectly executed – short, strong and with a consistency bordering on treacle, with Square Mile beans:

Quo Vadis

Of London’s cult and craze dishes, only a select few actually break out of the Twitterverse and small pond of bloggers and foodie obsessives and into mainstream consciousness, such as The Dead Hippy burger or Zucca’s veal chop. But some of them are pretty niche and obscure and destined to remain so: in this case, Quo Vadis’ smoked eel sandwich, which was extremely du jour after this Soho landmark reopened under the steer of Jeremy Lee (incidentally one of the most ethereally enjoyable people on Twitter).

However this pig doesn’t go too much for smoked eel – the merest contemplation of the smell gives me a tiny shiver – but luckily Lee’s assiduously changing seasonal menu had plenty to get stuck into. The menu itself is a witty, monochrome British rendition of the typical Parisian bistro menu. There are various compartments, boxes and fonts dotted around with weekly specials, bar snacks and other daily specials, and not least the Pie of the Day (£17), as well as a Middlewhite dish and an Onglet.

I’ve always found Quo Vadis a little intimidating. I guess it’s one of those things where the longer something has been part of an establishment (in this case, old Soho) and you’ve not been, the more exclusive and elusive it can seem to you. It always seemed very grown up and elitist. Although I suppose the opposite can be true: certainly Aberdeen Angus Steakhouses have evaded me too and I’m under no illusions about those.

But on entering, QV felt instantly accessible. The staff were friendly and the foyer was softened by the presence of baskets of lemons and vast pots of plants and flowers on a big old wooden table. 

Even though I’d been politely informed about a 2 hour table limit, we were offered a drink at the bar (as we’d arrived bang on time for our reservation, I would consider such an offer an extension or postponement of table time) which was in fact a decent sized, comfortable room rather than the usual holding pen. Our two house cocktails (one a gin and Dubonnet Queen mother style, and one a Campari and orange concoction) were well-made, strong and below £10.

Once we were at table (m’lord), it was such an effortlessly pleasant experience. Service was fantastic throughout, we were offered tap water, the wine list contained a couple of reds which they suggested served chilled (the Piglet is stubbornly avowing a rosé free summer so this was serious brownie point material) and the warm, fresh sourdough was amazing. 

I had a salad of Cornish Yarg with broad beans, pea and mint, for about £7. This was a great dish, summery and fresh.

Piglet’s rabbit livers defiled my plate of green freshness and the botanic surroundings (the dining room is also full of beautiful plants) by resembling, I’m sad to say, three deformed chicks on a skewer. Supposedly tasted decent though, but I can’t comment.

That evening’s pie was rabbit and duck – a combination I don’t think I’ve seen away from the pet food aisle, but tempting nonetheless. And it was fantastic – endless chunks of tender cuts of rabbit and duck in a gamey broth, and great pastry. I could barely finish it. The accompanying mash was creamy and perfectly seasoned too.

The Middlewhite (£19.50) consisted of three generous slabs of pork with some salad leaves. The meat was excellent quality and expertly cooked. Sides were a good spinach. No chips on this occasion as Ibiza looms…

 

The dessert menu was one of the most appealing I’ve seen in a long time, usually I have no problems sifting down to my 'something with berries and a dollop of vanilla'. And yes, in the end I did go for  the shortcake stack with vanilla cream and raspberries, which was absolutely delicious. 

The pear sorbet went down extremely quickly across the table too. I was pleased with the lack of choice here – sometimes ice cream and sorbet selections can be Biblical and no better for it.

After dinner, and a very reasonable bill all considered, we moved back into the bar and had some more cocktails. My favourite, the New York Sour, was exquisitely made (with Woodford Reserve, about £11) and Piglet’s sweet monstrosity; the amaretto sour, was supposedly also a great rendition.

Overall I had a brilliant meal at Quo Vadis, and as I can’t find anything to fault it, I won’t try too hard. I was taken by the efforts to soften the environment and any possible preconceptions people might have; banter with the bartenders, the greenery, flexibility of service – where I imagine a more formal dining experience once occurred. 

It didn’t feel like a place where moneyed foreign people frequent on their limited itineraries around Central London, or where people take their northern parents on a celeb-hunting treat. It actually reminded me a little of the sadly missed Brackenbury out in Hammersmith, but grander. And wittier. 

This place is tightly managed and the daily changing details are impressive. The graphics on the menus and bar tablecloths are most entertaining, especially for fans of B-movies. The al fresco seating, clubby bar area and solid bar food menu mean I’ll be back on a regular basis. I love Dean Street Townhouse but not for a meal and the bar area is only good for pairs.

And in case anybody was curious, despite having taken our table late and having a slow dinner, we still we weren’t asked to vacate at any point. And once I enquired about whether we could move through for drinks, a reservation card was whacked down instantly.

Food – 8/10

Drink – 9/10

Service - 9/10

Value – 8/10

Tap water tales – 9/10 (volunteered and consistently topped up)

Staff Hotness – 8/10

 

Elliot's

The idea is simple and commendable, and yet seems rather obvious; a café selling dishes using only fresh ingredients from the market opposite. When said market is Borough Market, the possibilities are vast. But Borough does bring complications such as weekend obligations on service speed and ‘crowd management’ – especially of the dozy tourist breed,  and the expectations of quality are much higher.

Elliot’s on the whole does a very good job. The space is bright, modern and appealing. Of course they don’t take reservations but I think on balance that suits the market thing, in terms of being able to browse and amble around without being on a schedule. My recent visit was a very quick brunch but I’ll definitely be back to try something more hearty.

I had the mini pancakes with strawberries and lemon curd ice cream – around £7. This was a clean, fresh dish – the Elliot’s full English at about £12.50 sounded fantastic but I fancied something a bit lighter. The ‘ice cream’ was closer to ‘refrigerated cream’ and could have been stronger on the lemon front. Strawberries were great as in season, and the pancakes were light.

Three small things to flag – firstly my coffee (which was very good) took about 10-15 mins to arrive, and did so shortly before my food. Annoying, but it was Saturday morning so their busiest time, even though this is not a surprise but a weekly occurrence. You could almost queue up with the Monmouth mugs next door in that time.

Secondly, they don’t sell sparkling water (only filtered tap) which seems to be missing a trick. Some people genuinely want sparkling, not to mention the hordes of tourists who probably think London tap is undrinkable, even if filtered. The margins are good too, what other restaurant doesn’t stock this?

And finally, why not offer some of the lovely meaty components from the full English as sides? All good brunch places do this – I could have happily had a little side of sausage or black pudding alongside my pancakes, only to hear “we can’t do that”. Right then. Do you work for the council?

So the sparkling water and brunch side represented maybe £5-7 which would have gladly gone from my coffers to theirs. Small change with one punter perhaps, but over time that rigidity will add up...

Food – 8/10

Drink – 8/10

Service - 6/10 (slightly snappy waitress and slow coffee)

Value – 8/10

Tap water tales – 9/10 (filtered tap offered and without that stupid £1 fee you see these days)

Staff Hotness – 5/10