SMITHS (Spitalfields)

SMITHS (capitalised once for correctness, but not to be repeated) is a newly opened spot in Spitalfields. Although it’s not really new, being an effective rebrand of the old LUXE (sic, old naming habits die hard seemingly), to share the branding of its Smithfield sibling. Cheshire high streets, beware! To be honest, I’m not 100% sure on the history or the status of John Torode's involvement (edit: he is no longer involved), but as this is a blog with no sub-editors or unpaid interns, boring facts can wait. It’s basically a reboot.

I liked the old Luxe, it was a well-executed venue with crisp branding and reasonable food and drink. Smiths is largely the same – at street level is a bar, with a restaurant upstairs and some sort of nightlife offering in the basement. Food is strikingly similar; a lot of grills and some random contemporary dishes such as braised short rib. There is some disconcertingly random geography among the starters; salads of green papaya co-exist with those of caprese, and both chicken liver parfait and spring rolls feature too. 

The nuts and bolts of the place are decent. Service is especially lovely (I need to declare here that I was invited to review Smiths, so this could have been a factor) – and the grills were good. But I would not say brilliant. For an establishment known for meat (and John Torode did pitch himself as a beef expert at times) the steak wasn’t amazing. Grill temperature couldn’t have been high enough to deliver a medium-rare piece of meat like the above. It should be bristled with char and burn, not tokenistically striped like a Whopper.

With Hawksmoor up the road and St John opposite, you’d struggle attracting a high-spending clientele here at that calibre. But perhaps that’s a lazy comparison. It seems to be pitched a little lower - more heightened pub food than upmarket steakhouse although to be fair I don’t think they are stating otherwise.

My venison cheese burger was reasonable – a stonkingly dense venison patty, cooked medium and with Cashel blue on top which worked well. The chips were my naughties gastro pub nightmare: massively hot, enormous roast potatoes masquerading as ‘hand-cut chips’. For fuck’s sake, it’s hardly a hard-working artisan paradise cutting a potato three ways. Good whack of salad though.

What else? Well, the cheeseboard was pretty, adorned with celery and some random sprigs of herbs. 

Smiths for some reason left me a little cold, much lesser than the sum of its parts. Everything was of a good standard and the staff were excellent, but I think it was missing an originality, a character or a quirkiness to be memorable. It’s safe, dependable and so straight down the line, that in being inoffensive it renders itself towards forgettable. 

Crate Brewery

Crate is a micro-brewery which does pizzas. It’s good.

I should elaborate really. 

In deepest, darkest Hackney Wick (it’s weird), there are many industrial buildings which in these heady, post-industrial times are more suitable for apartments, raves and yes, now brewing. Crate is a few years old, a veritable old-timer for today’s brewing boom. They have the perfect spot alongside the canal, with views to the various carbuncles of the Olympic Park and Stratford itself.

About 50% of those alighting from the Overground beelined straight for Crate; we followed a girl (in a chivalrously non-threatening manner, I hasten to add) through the desolation and came across it easily. It was packed considering the eerie quiet of the streets outside, and full of bearded, industrious types scurrying around in their artisan's aprons for this higher calling of pizza and pints.

The oh-so-carefully placed sacks of barley and kegs reminded me of that old Science Museum room where kids could play at industry: scooping up grain and putting it through various conveyor belts and contraptions. Only a bit more grown up. And not completely pointless, as the outcome is beer.

Pizzas here are an odd bunch, but a merry one. My favourite was surprisingly a veggie option – the stilton, walnut and blue cheese, which sounds bizarre but was tangy and sweet genius. A sucker for detail, I loved the thoughtful, egalitarian arrangement of sweet potato allowing everyone to have a piece, possibly inspired by the local squats.

Pepperoni was also fantastic – a hot mess of gunk and grease. And whilst not a pizza bianca like the stilton, it was very light on the tomato base. And finally, the grim-sounding but again, very good minced lamb and pine nut. A friend once ordered a disgrace of a lamb pizza once (at the Lansdowne), which was like regurgitated doner meat from Upper Street's finest, so I was suspicious, but this was genuinely tasty. All crusts are Roman thin and the wooden sharing boards keep everything tactile and sociable.

I can be a bit of a purist bore about pizzas (and many other things) but these were smart, salty toppings which perfectly complemented the copious mead going down. In fact, the flavours worked so well that traditional Italian pizza adornments may have made the whole beer thing feel a bit boorish. Not that it stopped those vampy doyennes of Twitter Rachel Roberts and Grace Dent from sinking a few bottles of red instead – there is something for everyone.

 

So there it is – admirable pizza, interesting beers (they stock loads beyond their own brews, including a rarity on these shores, Bear Republic) and that canalside space. It would be chaos anywhere else, but luckily it’s so far from the beaten track, it’s practically in Leyton. But if you’re adventurous, and fancy doubling the population of Hackney Wick in one train journey, it may be the best shout…

MEATmission

MEATmission is more of the same. Whether that is a good or bad thing depends completely on whether or not you like its older siblings. Personally, I’m a huge fan of the food, booze and vibe so It was never going to be a hard sell for me.

Differences here are that they take reservations before 7pm, the space is more condensed and some food tweaks. Notably, the monkey fingers – a huge serving of buffalo coated and fried chicken pieces. I could eat these every day.

In fact my current buffalo obsession led me onwards to try the buffalo chicken burger which was long overdue after a spate of dead hippies. It’s pretty much a big monkey finger in a bun. The chicken ‘burger’ is absolutely vast – you could quite easily halve it and fill two buns. It’s an unwieldy, greasy mess, and all the better for it.

A reviving glass jug of Brooklyn was punchy at £11 for two pints, but hoarded and guzzled all the same. My companions Piglet and @scouserachel preferred the sanguine hues of their ‘Time Of The Month’ cocktails. 

Service is friendly and extremely competent for this cacophonous, well-lubricated environment. The space is an old Christian mission, hence the name, and the stained glass effect mural is a nod to this. Sort of. If Satanists had worship space, perhaps. Frankly, an old church might be the only way to top this latest venue in terms of gothic drama.

The burgers are high-end slop, the crowd is young and loud, and you have that occasional reward of no-reservations; they thoroughly approve of people lingering to get drunk. It's a go hard or go home sort of place and you’ll already know if you’ll like it or not. I do profusely, and Monkey Fingers are worth crossing town for, but MEATliquor pips it, primarily for being more spacious and a lot more fun. 

Food – 8/10

Drink – 9/10

Service - 8/10

Value – 7/10 
Tap water tales – 8/10

Staff Hotness – 8/10

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. 

HIX at The Tramshed

Mark Hix’s Tramshed has been long on the horizon, but seems to have been worth the wait. There have been battles with residents and the council to do with licensing (who moves to Shoreditch and complains about late bars?) but once approved, came together rapidly and on Friday night was in full swing on its third day.

 

mezzanine level

The premise is chicken and steak. Quite strange bedfellows ordinarily, but even more so in the suspended Damien Hirst commission towering overhead; featuring a chicken and a cow in formaldehyde. Having since seen the exhibition at the Tate Modern, I've learned a little more on Hirst's work, and it’s certainly an attraction and conversation piece. I personally love it but can understand the doubters.

Art blog this is not, however (just as well, as that’s about all I have), and so back to the scran. At £25 and midway through a balmy pub crawl, the chicken and chips for two seemed a perfect stopover on our night. The chicken itself is served impaled and the tray collects the juices. I suspect a mass rotisserie somewhere churning out hundreds of these poor dears, but they are free range and so probably quite pleased to end up in such a striking environment.

It’s extremely tasty, very juicy and tender , and you even get the claws, should you wish! The chips were great, I think double cooked, very crunchy and thin – and great with the herby chicken juices. A simple, honest and delicious dish. You do carve your own, but this was actually quite fun.

Drinks-wise, many of the wonderful Mark’s Bar favourites are on the menu – but at the same prices which somehow seem a little steep here. North of £11 for a negroni in Shoreditch (as an aperitif at dinner) seems punchy even though I think nothing of paying it in Mark's Bar. I'm guessing he doesn’t want to diminish his value in W1.

The room is fun; it’s buzzy, youthful and sceney already. As well as the Hirst, there are a few more of the modern art oddities Hix is fond of, and there is an admirable feeling of spaciousness. Not just because of the 50+ foot ceilings, but with table spacing too. Tramshed’s own bar is impressive too, running the length of the room with plenty of seats.

bar diners

 

groovy, homely toilet

Light Bar comparisons are obvious, but this is a far slicker operation. It’s not necessarily the cosiest place, but will be a great option for big, boozy group dinners with friends in an area where demand is always growing. I probably need to go back and try the steak (5 week aged sirloin only, aged in a ‘Himalayan salt chamber’) – and get stuck into the wine list too. I had Hix’s own Oyster Ale which deep and complex, but ultimately became a little too sluggish in quantity. 

So overall a great new addition. Lots of fun, a distinctive environment, passion for the space and finish, and thankfully, a unique offering from Hix’s other establishments, keeping those accusations of chain-like expansion at bay.

Food – 8/10

Drink – 7/10

Service - 9/10 (quick and keen)

Value – 8/10 (good, easy on the cocktails perhaps!)

Tap water tales – 4/10 (the classic two-option feint, so had to invoke the third, tedious)

Staff Hotness – 7/10 (lots of busy, cute young things tearing around)

 

Ozone Coffee Roasters

Ozone Coffee Roasters is rather shockingly, a coffee roastery and café just south of Old Street, right in the heart of that ES mag darling and odious political trophy of the future, "The Silicon Roundabout".

Rather than being a slick urban Auckland operation like Allpress (or indeed Melbourne’s St Ali) they’re actually from the small Kiwi city of New Plymouth. It’s hard to imagine a similar sized place in the UK (Dewsbury, Rugby or Cheshunt to name a few) having such a serious, global approach to coffee.

The space is a cavernous one, with a nice mix of industrial lighting and metal, plenty of exposed brick and a lot of wood too. The counter is particularly long and impressive, although it was somewhat lacking in the usual tempting display of baked goods which cafés of this genre carefully position within grasp and whiff.

 

So with the regular sandwiches a bit lacklustre, I had no alternative than to go for the steak sandwich (£12.50) from the brunch menu. Said menu is also correctly very egg heavy – those with a sweet tooth might like the orange and cardamom French toast with rose honey and mascarpone – but it also has that Antipodean brunch renegade, the steak sandwich.

Peppery, juicy chunks of steak, given even more piquancy with piles of rocket, were served on sourdough with a mature cheddar so tangy and sharp, it could have been Keen’s or Quickes. This was extremely well-seasoned, with salt, pepper and marinade from the steak ensuring a lot of flavour.

succulent...

Chips were tasty – skin on and in a little tin pot (which I've always liked, inexplicably) but could have been a little crispier.

My long black (£2) to go was very good too, with a great head of crème and a deep, nutty taste. My one tiny niggle is that purist Antipodean long blacks are much lesser in liquid than Americanos. I accept that. But this one was about 150ml which was too small I thought, even if correct.

Overall I really liked Ozone. It’s a cool space, the staff were very friendly and the offering is pretty wide. The vibe is a bit more welcoming and accessible than St Ali I think, which can be a bit distracted and inefficient. 

And all this from a small-town Kiwi outfit! I'm impressed. I hope word spreads and we get some more of their exports, perhaps next from my favourite foodie city, Wellington? London could easily take a Mojo, Plum Café or Midnight Espresso. 

And if the coffee wasn’t good enough (or liquid enough) they serve Meantime Pale Ale on draught. This pig is sold...

Food – 8/10

Drink – 9/10

Service - 8/10

Value – 7/10

Tap water tales – 9/10 (brought straight away in a vintage Kiwi beer bottle)

Staff Hotness – 9/10 (cute, inked-up Kiwi waitresses and two hot barista boys)

 

Long White Cloud

Long White Cloud is quite an innocuous little place in amongst the inner city mix of charm and squalor that Hackney Road juggles so well. Squalor often wins out, so it’s nice to see little patches of ‘loveliness’ emanating out from Columbia Road and Shoreditch High Street.

 

As the name describes, it’s a Kiwi joint doing coffee and breakfast. It’s not a fancy one by any means and isn’t particularly stylised or slick. The space is long, narrow and cluttered, but with enough varied seating to relax. There were a few people just chilling out on the wi-fi, which you could never do at Lantana for example.

Breakfast offerings are pretty simple. The French Toast with bacon and banana was a fulfilling dish. I’m always torn between fruit compote/blueberries and bacon with my pancakes or French toast. How refreshing to be offered both. 

This very attractive plate of food also contained some spinach leaves with a drizzle of oil, adding colour and freshness (and a little healthy virtuousness) to well grilled bacon, generous banana and filling french toast – all made at the grilling station behind the till – American deli style. At £6.50 it comes in at half the price of Bill Granger’s with double the amount of bacon (must get over that) and is definitely more satisfying.

My friend had the muesli which was good quality and piled high with shredded green apple and natural yoghurt. Again, well-priced at £3.50.

Coffee is Monmouth and strong. The wall is lined with local artists’ works, and the back has a few shelves of Antipodean chocolates and other bits for homesick Kiwis. 

Another solid breakfast and coffee option for an area with more and more choice. This joins Allpress, Story, Nude and Leila’s, among many others…

Food – 7/10

Drink – 7/10

Service - 8/10

Value – 9/10

Tap water tales – 7/10

Staff Hotness – 7/10

Campania Gastronomia

So if there is any spot more coveted in London than a walk-in table at Polpetto, it could quite possibly be an outside table at Campania for Sunday brunch. This Italian café is on a strategic corner of Columbia Road, where the market begins (or ends), with all those little shops selling prints, scented candles, teas, garden implements and other general ‘loveliness’. 

Whether you’re just here for the flowers, or for a full on Sunday potter, it’s hard to beat the people watching from Campania. Yes you’ve got the predictable Shoreditch posers in skinny jeans etc… but it’s a little more diverse here. It’s definitely East London’s pocket of tweeness so you see lots of sweet (yet trendy still) nest builders as well as the obligatory beggars roaming around. Loads of gays, lesbians, cockneys and folk-rockers make the street scene pretty good for nosing and, well, perving frankly.

So where better to have a simple brunch (£9) of scrambled eggs, pancetta rashers, Neapolitan sausage and fresh sourdough?

The slightly inundated waitress tells us the Neapolitan sausage is as it says – a sausage from Naples. All cleared up then…

The pancetta is perfectly salty for my hung over taste buds, and the bread is delicious. The handful of rocket makes me feel virtuous, the fresh OJ is great and the coffee’s fantastic  too.

I guess they offer more here in terms of evenings, the inside looks all rustic chic - and I do like the coffee/sandwich hatch - but I’m in seat 1A here and receiving the green eyed, unsubtle hoverings from all the would-be occupiers of this table. And on that note, I order another long black, sit back and enjoy the view…

Food – 7/10
Drink – 8/10
Service - 6/10 (friendly but a bit wobbly)
Value – 6/10
Tap water tales – 8/10 (carafe brought)  
Staff Hotness – 7/10 (cute Italian girls)