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. 

Grillshack

Grillshack has thankfully replaced the execrable Alphabet Bar on Beak Street, and early signs are positive. First impressions are a slightly baffling array of innovation; no reservations standard but you can sign up for a text when your table is ready. But once you’re in, the options for ordering are overwhelming. Do you download their app and go through that? Or perhaps at the DIY till points? Or yes, there is a counter. Which most people seem to do.

The menu is edited fairly tightly – the burger with add-ons (my newly gluten-free other half is appeased here, but at a 75p surcharge absent from the admittedly higher priced Honest Burgers), a steak, some chicken. Basic yes, and not ground-breaking so far. Although crowd pleasers equate to  crowds and this has certainly been the case on both visits of mine.

Grillshack’s £5-ish burger is my nap here: a juicy, decent sized patty, just pink enough for the purists among us, pretty damn tasty. Bun replete with a light bead of sweat, and bacon proper. 

The steak with shoestring fries is value for the meat alone; a rib-eye supposedly but pulverised into the sort of escalope you might expect in a steak sandwich. No complaints at a £10 price point. Their regular fries have a fantastic seasoning which eclipses the rather lacklustre shoestrings too, which need a touch of sexing up, April Bloomfield style.

But food isn’t the main draw here. It’s serviceable, nay, quite good, but the ease and charm of Grillshack won this pig over. At such great value it’s definitely positioning itself as a Flat Iron, Five Guys and Shake Shack contender, and leaving the higher end of those markets well alone. The key will be repeat business, bolstered by service levels. Which are fantastic by the way; truly attentive and friendly.

Richard Caring’s stewardship of Le Caprice, Soho House Group and others over the years has proven that punters return hungrily again and again for 7/10 food when you give them 9/10 service. As long as it’s decent, great people add the magic finishing touch to make the occasion. Grillshack is a fast food version of that clever approach.

Yes I’m a predictable cynic and Grillshack is an achingly portable concept, probably conceived as such, but so what? Better more of this than some of the rubbish out there now, and nobody would object to W1 service levels radiating outwards, with the food people actually want to eat.

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 Parlour and The Chamberlayne

West London, and specifically North West where I currently live, is a culinary desert. There are a few old favourites and predictable stalwarts, but these are not the fertile, lush plains of Central and East London in terms of choice, openings and excitement.

I’m not going to continue with the god-awful terrain analogy. So where I might have mentioned oases, I will say that there are some exceptions – mainly in related to buzz rather than quality or dynamism. Around Portobello, spots like the Electric, E&O and the Italians of Kensington Park Road are packed out, extremely lively but equally are part of the furniture. Crazy Homies, El Camino, Santo and Taqueria feed the area’s many Yanks, giving the area a rare edge on others for Mexican. And of course there is The Ledbury.

A little north of there, even less is going on. Shambolic for somewhere so central and extortionate to live. Sacro Cuore’s pizzeria is tasty but let down by apathetic service. The Dock Kitchen has shades of brilliance (and not just Tom Dixon’s metallic numbers) but isn’t quite there on the food.  Too preoccupied with concept and identity to relax and confidently secure its future. People are confused – it is open? Is it a pop-up? Foraged menu only? Is there a bar? Shame as the space is fantastic.

But the pubs of North West London are decent, and this blurb is about The Parlour and The Chamberlayne. The former has been many things, known to most as that other pub behind that suburban fleshpot The Paradise, the Infernos of NW. However it’s been taken over by the Mall Tavern team, and is looking rather slick.

The starkness of the tiling is given warmth with a sea of mismatching, reclaimed wood tables, red booths and mixed up seating, and next door an attractive teal dining room sports plenty of clubby amber booth seating and original panelling. Inspiration seems to be Schiller’s Liquor Bar meets Riding House Café. But it retains a pub feel, no least due to the many interesting drops on tap – for example Anchor Steam’s Liberty Ale. Seeing their regular beer on tap is a special enough, so this is quite unique. 

Breakfast has been lauded here and it delivers. They’re trying the frying pan as a plate thing but seemingly bottling it due to lack of space for the handle (some tables are a little small). The beans in the jar are a great touch, although homemade might have been more exciting than Heinz given the effort in other areas. Hash browns are not seen enough on brunch menus and the sourdough and spreads bar for £1 (included in main breakfasts though) is cheaper than chips. Amazing bacon too. Solid coffee from South London’s Volcano and excellent service. And on weekends the kitchen is open until 1am which is a rare thing in W1, let alone out here in the sticks.

From breakfast to dinner, and for carnivores it has to be The Chamberlayne. Owned by The Salusbury team, they have gone for steaks and other meats (with some bistro touches) rather than the Italian you’d expect. Steaks here are dry aged and from a various sources, Scottish or English with the odd USDA guest. 

 

My T-bone was immense; quality meat, masterfully charred yet pink, well rested and absolutely nothing to improve upon. As respectable as you’d have anywhere, and at £36-ish inclusive of chips and a sprightly salad, extremely good value. An added bonus was receiving both rosemary & red wine jus and a decent béarnaise as standard – no fleecing on the sauces here. Chips were double cooked and amazing dipped in the rich jus.

We ate in the pub area on a Saturday night. It was rammed and so not much to say in the way of service, but to be expected. One teeny gripe was that we ordered all food, drinks and desserts (crumble was gigantic but mealy, loose and unfinished) all from the bar as per the pub norm, but at the very end we asked a passing barman for our bill as it was so busy. It had the 12.5% service added, which I think would not have happened had we got up and paid our pub tab. Not the worst thing, but a little cheeky – our fault for being lazy I guess and a lesson learned.

Clientele are those that can’t afford Notting Hill – either willing exiles looking for space and value, or reluctant snobs and penniless second sons. Think older dads working in TV and advertising: turned-up selvedge, tan brogues and the now-encouraged salt & pepper hair, having their monthly night away from Olivia and Rufus on the Guinness and nosebag.

Both Parlour and Chamberlayne represent some reasonable options in the area. There isn’t an influx of fancy fried chicken, not many places to grab a flat white and certainly not a sniff of Peruvian but food trends aside, there are several spots for dependable grub in the area.
 

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

Flat Iron

Starting out as a pop-up at Shoreditch’s Owl And The Pussycat, Flat Iron is a basic proposition of the eponymous affordable cut of steak, served with the usual accompaniments quickly and efficiently. Steak for the people, if you will. But with a hipster edge and some burgeoning meat cleaver infamy.

It’s a tough one (arf) hawking lesser cuts of meat because punters still have quite high expectations for steak in any context. It’s a treat. And so it is judged more harshly than a burger at the same price point. This isn’t the best steak you’ll ever have, but it is ten pounds. And for that ten pounds, you get an attractive spread of grilled and sliced flatiron (it’s the name of the cut also) and a tiny yet delicious lamb’s lettuce salad.

The steak is cooked exactly to order; yes it does require a little more jaw work than a boring fillet but you are rewarded with a  richness of flavour through a good amount of juicy marbled fat. It’s decent. Very decent. And it’s ten pounds.

Chips are £2.50 and up there with London’s finest. Superb and exactly how I like them. A modest double-fried I would say, but with smaller chips meaning loads of crispy scraps at the bottom, like batter scraps from a Geordie chip shop. 

Sauces are a quid each, we had both a peppercorn and a béarnaise which were great. House red was an Italian which was spot on – not too thin and acidic like many cheaper Italian reds can be, but most overly fruity either. Perfect.

Service was friendly, both tap water and beef-dripping popcorn (!) were provided without any prompt,  and of course the mini meat cleavers are a lot of fun.

It’s easy to criticise Flat Iron because clearly one can pay more to know a cow’s birthday and be happy that they were frequently massaged in between sups of beer. But as an overall experience and in the context of value (not to mention one you can do for a weekday lunch on your own dollar) it’s hard to beat. Especially for ten English pounds.

I’m not a fan of AA Gill’s particularly, and nor of Brasserie Zedel which I think is about comparable to a Café Rouge on the QE2, but I do agree that it democratises the brasserie through its pricing. Flat Iron arguably offers the same for steaks – albeit very niche rather than generalist. And that’s why I like it.

Not just because it’s affordable but because they’ve actually done something original and accessible in a sea of clones which should be commended. There was an idea, it then became a pop-up, was a hit and now it has a permanent home, which I admire a lot in terms of simple execution and fruition. It’s thoroughly pleasant place to spend an hour too. And did I mention the price?

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