Monocle Café, London

So the Monocle Café has finally opened on Marylebone’s languid Chiltern street. It’s a very different proposition from the Tokyo café; the smaller space understandably brings a more slavish adherence to clean lines which is utterly on-brand. It is closer to the mould of a modern coffee shop than its department store basement cousin in Japan; itself more a stylised canteen or airport lounge.

The Tokyo original has more curves, non-standard angles, texture and fluidity, which is ironic given that it was designed by Omotesando Koffee’s Eiichi Kunitomo, enlisted due to his own impeccably lined, cubist masterpiece. Ostensibly, he out-Monocled Tyler. But then, Japan is the muse. With a dash of Nordic governance and pragmatism.

Coffee is procured from East London Kiwi outfit Allpress, served with Japanese inspired crockery and trays (for sale, naturally), and is thoroughly Antipodean in execution. Which is to say excellent. Cakes were baffling – they resembled the oversweet, glacier fruited cakes of Chinatown, but with real fruit pieces and actually pretty tasty. I look forward to the full menu, which promises more brunch items and possibly even gin. 

The staff are Monocle through and through. Really, the whole thing is. Whether or not the whole brand proposition is fanciful and aspirational beyond the stars is beside the point (of course it is, does the easily attainable sell £6 magazines?), as the delivery here is spot on.

Beyond some less-explored world commentary, bold ideas and voices on contemporary living, and its championing of print media, Monocle will be long remembered as an exquisite case study in branding. It’s unshakeable, beautiful, consistent, ubiquitous and preposterous. With a blue apron and a perfect beard.

It has shrewdly tapped in to success, vanity, knowledge and frequent flyer status as manifestations of the professional man’s raw competitive streak, and created something brilliant. I see it for what it is - as both  advertising bod and targeted punter, and I admire it even more.

Verru

Such a tonic it is to have a meal in a normal restaurant, and I didn’t realise how long it had been after a good year of burgers, pop-ups, small plates, single-item menus, wine tumblers and a lot of queuing. 

Remember when you booked a table at a certain time, arrived at that time and somebody took your coats, and offered you some fizz and you were then seated at an empty, set table? Bread and real menus follow (which are NOT placemats) and food is served to you all simultaneously and in courses?

Yep it seems so odd that in a new-ish place is offering what could depressingly now be seen as a traditional approach, outside of the stratospheric bubble of fine dining. Step forward Verru, a curious mix of Scandinavian and Nordic food, prepared with French techniques and served with bold colour.

At the top of burgeoning Marylebone Lane, it’s a tiny place with little ambient noise save the clink of cutlery on porcelain and self-consciously hushed conversation. An inescapably conspicuous arrival jars a bit, but it soon dissipates as you slump into comfy seats, and fresh bread and booze arrive.

Yellow pea soup with a topping of crunchy goose was a fantastic start. The soup was rich and deep in flavour and the goose did the job of posh bacon bits admirably.

A tick list Scandi starter of meatballs on mash with carrot puree was rich and creamy – the crumbly, homemade meatballs providing a bit of texture to the smooth accompaniments. Correctly made, you can discern the different meats involved, including veal which is a must.

The other starters were herring and mackerel, neither being my favourite fish so I must come clean and admit I didn’t taste them. But feedback was lofty indeed – the herring was surrounded by fantastical mushrooms and presented in an on-trend “oh look what I just casually scattered” forage-y style. 

Mackerel was also entangled in a forest of Thor only knows what, and with a brick of caramelised ham hock for good measure.

Onto the mains – lamb rump with homemade lamb sausage (so close to that Masterchef chestnut of ‘X three ways’) with a slightly spicy chutney, chickpeas and red pepper. Very good dish, although the lamb sausage had a very high meat content and did almost get the better of me.

Halibut with pork belly was another star. Perfectly cooked and presented.

And finally, the venison. Again, beautifully presented and cooked with the obligatory red sauce and a smidgen of potato. There is some real care and attention in the kitchen at Verru and it shows.

Prices were £7-10 for starters and £16-20 for mains, but there was also a cheaper set menu including a steak option for £16 including a glass of wine. We had a sneaky side order of chips which were triple cooked and excellent – but definitely needed.

I liked Verru a lot and would recommend it to anyone. It isn’t the buzziest scene you’ll encounter in 2013, but go for exquisite presentation (provided you like a good pea swirl), thoughtful flavour combinations and attentive service.

Riotous booze-ups should probably go elsewhere – ruling out my friends certainly – but it’s a discreet, relaxed and for 2013, defiantly old-school option for a culinary twist on a date or the parental meal out. 

Food – 9/10

Drink – 7/10 

Service - 8/10 

Value – 7/10 

Tap water tales – 5/10 (not offered but once established, topped up a lot with ice) 

Staff Hotness – 6/10

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

Royal China (Baker Street)

Going for weekend dim sum at Royal China on Baker Street is a London institution. It's not necessarily for the most discerning of Chinese diners, nor is it technically the best dim sum in town.

There are plenty of tourists but there are also Chinese families, hipsters and even the odd celeb (Jarvis Cocker getting stuck into some dumplings) so even if there is better dim sum in a car park in Croydon or every second Wednesday down an alleyway in Earls Court, this is still a fun, diverse London experience.

Long before Russell Norman, they wrote the book on no reservations. It’s egalitarian though; you take a numbered ticket and wait. Covers must exceed 200 I’m sure, and so the turnover is quick. You may see larger tables seated before you – the queue looked horrendous but we waited maybe 5-10 mins on a Saturday at about half three.

Honey pork puffs are one of my guilty pleasures. They’re obviously a very Western-friendly ‘entry level’ dim sum, but I love them all the same. Sweet in a way that few cuisines can (and should be able to) get away with, the combination of crumbling pastry and sweet porky filling is a winning one. Dim sum for the Gregg’s generation.

Prawn and chive dumplings and beef cheung fun are good. The texture of dim sum is something I’ve previously struggled with a little. The Chinese seem to have a steely propensity to handle the slithery and slimy. My initial reaction is a slight shudder, but then the fillings come through and save the day. Both solid dishes here. 

Char sui buns are the kings of dim sum for me. I could happily order 5 options of these and walk away as satisfied and accomplished as if I’d tried the most adventurous dishes on the menu. Pillowy buns torn open to reveal pieces of sweet, barbecued pork – this is a thing of beauty. Royal China’s version isn’t the best I’ve had (the meat component could have been more generous), but can you really have a bad one?

Our final dish (we had dinner in a few hours) were some deep fried duck rolls. These weren’t deep fried like spring rolls, but effectively battered sausages you’d get from the chippy except with some hoi sin tinged duck inside. The artery-clogging ability of these would be a challenge to equal - an absolute heart attack on a plate. Not that it stopped us wolfing them down.  

Service is standard Chinese: humorously brusque in that way which is somehow endearing and tolerated. If the servers were French, we’d be declaring an end to the entente cordiale. Rude, or at best, indifferent service is perversely one of my favourite things about Chinese restaurants; amusing and yet fair in its indiscriminateness. A bit like South Park.

Possibly the best thing about the experience is the ease of it. It’s super cheap (less than £20 including tea and service), very quick and thus perfect for a hangover. 

Food – 7/10 

Drink – 7/10 (tea spot on, otherwise I'd stick to beer) 

Service - 8/10 - exactly what it needs to be 

Value – 9/10 

Tap water tales – none asked, none offered 

Staff Hotness – 4/10 (beleaguered and frantic is not a good look)

 

Tommi's Burger Joint

Tommi’s Burger Joint is indeed a low key burger joint in a rather unlikely location. The Wigmore Street end of Marylebone Lane is more known for boutiques and kitchen showrooms than indie burger places, so this is quite an interesting addition to the area.

It’s an Icelandic chain (which probably explains the ability to pay the W1 rent) and an uncomplicated set up. One room of about twenty covers, order and pay at the till and take a seat for the burgers to arrive.

The menu is straight forward, with a few oddities such as BYOB (in a burger place? not for wanting of trying I’m sure) and free coffee. The décor is carefully careless, with the feeling of an indie bar or possibly student union, staffed by Aryan giants.

Burgers come as steak (rib eye, rump and fillet mince) or regular, which I had. It features the inevitable brioche bun, a good sized patty – nicely charred and yet medium rare – and even with the cheaper burger, you can see the roughly minced evidence of meat of quality:

Fries are forgettable, I wouldn’t bother order them next time. Me and my friend actually thought we’d get a third burger and split it. It was very good. Cheese wasn’t fancy, but perfect. The burgers are £5-7 which is great value itself, or £8-9 with fries and a soft drink.

Comparisons are predictable and rife, especially in this burger-sodden age. Apologies for being deliberately pretentious by going abroad, but I would suggest it closest to Burger Joint at Le Parker Meridien in New York, or Golden Brown of Tokyo’s Omotesando Hills. In London, I’d probably say Byron. Fries not as good, and missing a trick on the craft beers (although I’m guessing that’s a licence thing), but a better bun and mature, relaxed approach to medium-rare cooking which Byron now sadly shy away from.

I like this place. It has a simple, indie feel to it – you’d pop in for a burger and pop off just as quickly, but far more contented. The area around Selfridges has always been a little weak on the food and drink front. The best of Marylebone is a trek away, St. Christopher's Place is chain-heavy, and until Workshop you couldn’t get a decent coffee for miles.

Now you can add a decent, simple burger to that list, notwithstanding the MEATliquor experience of course, if you fancy dabbling. And it’s good to see some recently-maligned Icelanders bringing some of their spirit back to London.

Food – 8/10

Drink – 4/10 (cult-followed milkshakes to follow but not up and running yet)

Service - 7/10

Value – 8/10

Tap water tales – 0/10 (none on the sideboard, asked but directed to bottled water fridge)

Staff Hotness – 8/10 (if you like Vikings and East German baddies from '80s films)