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?

Wishbone

Wishbone is a tiny hole in the wall place in Brixton’s Market Row, selling fried chicken. Whether it is glib, lazy or at worst offensive to reference the inevitable popularity of chicken in Brixton, (or pointedly naïve not to mention it), it’s not inaccurate as Wishbone was absolutely packed when I visited.

This is no Chicken Cottage situation however; all birds are free range and dishes include wings and deboned thighs with various seasonings and treatments such as Buffalo, Korean and barbecue, served with dipping sauces. The Buffalo wings were pretty damn spicy and very meaty.

Special mention for the side dishes, especially the deep fried mac’ n’ cheese. These are pockets of the hash brown variety, hot and crisp, filled with macaroni cheese. Absolutely delicious, I’d say that ironically these contain no chicken and yet could become the signature dish of Wishbone. You get 4 for about £4.50.

You might infer from the (very reasonable) pricing that this isn’t a place to linger, but a long list of sours and strong beer selection means there is plenty to stay for and we felt no pressure to hurry at all. The staff were lovely and chatty, tunes were old school hip hop and service was quick.

My one red flag was the Hot Mess, which was a jumbled dish of broken hash browns coated with cheese and tomato sauce, jalapenos and pickles. It sounds like the ultimate in dirty filthy junk dude whatever food, but when faced with it, the grease quotient is just a little too much and makes the dish quite unappealing.

When we visited (a Saturday around 2pm), the quarter and half chicken portions were unfortunately sold out, so the selection was between wings, boneless thighs and the chicken wrap. Hopefully this was an isolated issue, but if not I’d say that now they’re bedded down, they may want to expand the menu a little. 

Still, it’s a buzzy, fun place and I’d definitely return. A fried chicken and waffle brunch dish wouldn't go amiss...I'm not aware of anyone in London doing it at the moment. This I ate at the Nob Hill Grille in San Francisco last month, and it was quite fantastic:

Mission Cheese, San Francisco

My goodness this place is special.

Located on Valencia Street (which is among the best foodie strips and clusters in SF, along with Hayes and Fillmore) it’s an ode to cheese but in a bar environment. San Francisco is a town of boozers who like their bars divey and old school. Chat with bartenders is the norm and even the most dumpy looking bars will offer decent cocktails and top shelf spirit brands to make this Brit blush with Gordon’s shame.

Mission Cheese is set up like that normal US bar, focus centred on the physical bar itself but with some tables dotted around too. But the catch here is that behind the bar features huge fridges of cheese and charcuterie, rather than beers and wine. Well, that’s not completely true as the booze is important here too (had a fantastic Russian River pinot), but this is a cheese bar, if there ever was such a thing.

In addition to cheese flights (and meat ones too) all manner of cheesy creations are offered – raclette, toasted cheese sandwiches (aka ‘grilled cheese’), macaroni cheese and some off menu rarebit. And much more. 

I loved the presentation (individual knives for different cheese types), cornichons quite rightly, and the extra fruits, including some amazing semi-dried apricots and figs. All local of course – the Bay Area is impressively and yet tediously pedantic in bashing you with the provenance of even the humblest lettuce, to the detriment of any brevity in their menus. Like anybody knows the virtue of farmer X versus farmer Y...

Decor is great. The green tiles and fun mural against the moody Edison lighting provide a slight twist on a predictable hipster theme - that of the Saw bathroom and distressed, bevilled tiling.

Service is fantastic as are staff, and they’re hugely knowledgeable. I’ve a weakness for gruyère and other nutty Alpine cheeses, and sheepy pecorinos, and the waitress was able to match these perfectly with US cheeses. Mission Cheese is certainly a vindication for the stereotype that American cheese doesn’t go beyond its eponymous burger slice.

If you’re in San Francisco, Mission Cheese is an absolute must. Up there with the best establishments I visited in 2012, and needed in a dynamic and yet innovation-stalled London scene asap.

  

Hawksmoor Christmas Burger

A little jaunt earlier to check out Hawksmoor Seven Dials’ Christmas Burger saw a momentous occasion and newsworthy joining of forces...

Not only was it @scouserachel’s maiden Blonde-ing to yours truly, but I was also privileged enough to witness her own judgment day. The annual Christmas sarnie summation took this Blonde viral pre-George Michael fame, and this was surely to be the pinnacle of the genre. Sorry Pret, but there is actual GRAVY here.

Coming in at £15 including more carbs than are ever wise before an afternoon’s work, the Christmas burger also hosts a little jug of gravy for dipping both the duck fat tatties and the multitudinous ingredients falling from the burger.

It’s on trend in terms of buttermilk fried blah blah, but doing so to turkey is an even smarter upgauge of a more boring bird. There is Tamworth sausage which is a ‘quietly deluxe’ McDonalds breakfast sausage patty. These guys are just so clever. There is a huge rasher of bacon. Sprout tops provide the greenery. Cranberry ketchup the lube. Oh, and masses of cheese – all piled into a perfect brioche bun.

Quite reasonably, the bun did struggle under this burden, and I granted myself special dispensation to knife and fork it after a few lifting attempts. I’m quite a stubborn weirdo with burgers (not even really approving of halving them), but this is a sloppy beast. It encompasses hot, crispy, smooth, sharp, salty, sweet – any sensation you could ever need in a lunchtime.

I’ve not much else to say except run and get one while you can… meanwhile I’m halfway to horizontal at my desk. I really should be dozing on the couch swearing at Eastenders instead, my Christmas dining having peaked today. Hawksmoor, as ever, just get it right.

Rapha Cycle Club

Rapha Cycle Club is almost a little too cool for its own good. It’s a sleek, metallic, industrial space, split between cyclewear and a café area. The people at first glance are as you’d expect: inked-up cliques of a better-heeled (and wheeled) variety than Look Mum No Hands.

On closer inspection, there were more folk in civvies than in cycling attire, and the staff were incredibly welcoming. No exclusive cyclist ghetto is this, unlike the terror of deigning to perch on the wall where Poland St meets Broadwick.  

Focaccia was a good size and price (£4.50) for these parts, especially when eating in and it’s grilled and served with a decent handful of dressed salad. It was packed full of prosciutto, mozzarella, tomatoes and basil, and a great lunch. My long black was delicious – I believe they’re moved from Monmouth Beans to Square Mile. 

Interestingly, it was predominantly male and is effectively a very blokey coffee joint. Any ‘coffee date’ I have with a male friend inevitably results in a brief stand-off before one caves in to proclaim “fuck it, fancy a pint?”, and the faux-intentions of coffee are long consigned to history. But at Rapha there are actually plenty of guys having a coffee together. Talking tats. And hedge funds.

They sell booze (a short, eclectic wine list and Kernel beers) and with some music on, it wouldn’t be too shabby a place to come for a quick evening drink, or a cheeky afternoon one. And I thoroughly enjoyed the buzzy, original surroundings too, which reminded me of the many ‘concept’ café-in-retail offerings in Tokyo. I look forward to returning for the braised beef brioche – effectively pie filling encased in a brioche bun, which at £3.50 seems great value.