Shaftesbury Avenue yakitori that deserves your support

Location, location and location. It’s supposed to be one of the keys to a successful London restaurant, but a spot on the West End’s bustling Shaftesbury Avenue hasn’t helped Yumi Izakaya. Nestled in between the entrance to the Piccadilly West End Hotel (formerly a Best Western) and a tacky souvenir shop, this small Japanese pub and eatery was mostly empty across all four of my visits.

This is a real shame. Unlike many of the other so-called izakayas opening across London, you can just pop into Yumi for a drink and perhaps a skewer of yakitori of two, ordering as you go. Or you can just settle down and order a big gut-busting meal straight off the bat as I did. It’s an attractive place with a bar facing onto the small kitchen, a window counter and table seating. I’m not a drinker, but if you’re a big Japanese beer aficionado with some spare cash then the bottled Hitachino available here will appeal to you greatly.

It’s the hotel restaurant in all but name – Yumi shares the hotel spa’s toilets and you can charge your bill to your room’s tab.

First things first

Yakitori skewers of chicken thigh had a firm bouncy bite and an offaly quality that was made even better by the sweet tare glaze.

Stroke my thighs.

Skewered chicken liver was just as good. The airy texture contrasted neatly with the heavy offaliness, while a garnish of crisp spring onions helped ensure the heaviness wasn’t too overwhelming.

My liver is in pretty good shape unlike Sue Ellen’s.

The quivering flesh of the braised aubergine was airy and gently buttery, but also needed more resting time – it arrived scaldingly hot. A little more problematic was the sauce. The mixture of soy, mirin and sake was a little too sweet for my liking.

Braise be!

Kimchi had a cumulative tingly heat and an occasional sour tang. A respectable rendition.

Cabbage head.

Yumi’s venison donburi was far better than the stodgy, half-hearted donburis available elsewhere. Fluffy small grained rice provided the carbs, while the richness of the runny onsen egg yolk was enhanced by the umami of the nori seaweed slivers. The punchy citrusy herbiness of the shiso leaf was a pleasing contrast to the tart and earthy enoki mushrooms. The slices of venison cooked medium didn’t fail to impress with their meaty, earthy woodiness. Everything came together beautifully as a satisfying whole.

Yummy Yumi.

Going back for seconds

Skewered chicken hearts had a kidney-like texture with their firm and taut bite, then a yieldingly soft follow-through. A distinct kick of ginger was neatly counterbalanced by a garnish of crisp spring onions.

I heart London.

Gizzards may not a widely eaten poultry organ, but they should be – especially when they’re as expertly prepared as they are at Yumi. The firm, crisp texture was akin to a cross between a kidney and an onion. It’s an acquired taste and I loved it.

Waste not, want not.

The yakitori highlight of this second meal had to be the meatball though. More of a mini chicken kofte, the moist meat lozenge was delectable enough on its own thanks to the sweet and umami glaze. Add in the richness of the egg yolk swimming in mirin though and it became a dish good enough to die for. No, to kill for.

‘Moist meat lozenge’. I should’ve saved that one for my erotic novel.

Yumi’s okonomiyaki is a far heartier affair than the light and comparatively wispy version of the dish available at the nearby Abeno and Abeno Too. The okonomiyaki here may be small in diameter, but it’s thicker than a hick Trump supporter. Layers of batter and taut, bitter cabbage laced with salty and fatty pancetta. The doorstop of a portion was topped with lashings of kewpie mayo, brown sauce and powerfully umami bonito flakes. It not only tastes good, it’s filling enough to fuel an arctic explorer.

Fuel.

Taut, slippery and lightly umami seaweed topped with tenderised slices of lotus root and briney cucumbers made for a fine side salad.

There is some seaweed buried underneath all that.

The only duff dish of this meal was the special of shrimp tempura. Although free from excess oil, the heavy and floury batter made for dour, joyless eating as did the bland and flaccid shrimp underneath.

There’s a reason why there are dedicated tempura chefs in Japan.

Meaty threesome

Despite the mild Korean-style spiciness, the chilli fried cauliflower felt like a mediocre vegetarian version of Chinese kung pao/gong bao chicken with the thin, slippery batter easily sliding off the admittedly firm cauliflower florets.

Red state.

The crab korroke was similarly unimpressive. The soft and oil-free breadcrumb exterior had the feel of an Iceland canape to it, as did the vaguely creamy and seafood-ish liquid filling. The modestly citrusy dipping mayo on the side didn’t help the korroke’s cause.

Balls.

The chicken meatball yakitori was just as good as it was before, nearly overshadowing the skewers of pork belly. The belly’s smoky rendered fat and salty meat, slick with a sweet mirin glaze, really hit the spot. Fat, salt and sugar. Good. Very good.

Egg-sellent dipping material.

Belly laughs.

If you’re going to order the duck udon, then it’s worth cutting back on the smaller dishes as this steaming bowl of noodle soup is, like the okonomiyaki, a very filling dish. Although thinly sliced and very smoky, the gameless duck verged on gammon territory. It was still pleasing enough though, especially when taken with the supple seaweed and umami soup. I’d prefer udon with a bit of chew rather than the soft tendrils here, but the only really disappointing element were the soggy tempura crumbs. It’s not the best bowl of udon noodle soup you’ll ever have, but it’s not bad either and was very satiating.

Not quite bowled over.

Go fourth and multiply

Chicken skin might sound like an odd part of the animal to have on its own, but not when it’s as unctuous, taut and lightly crisp as it was here.

Curled around the skewer.

Show me some skin.

Chilled sprouting broccoli had a firm bite and was dressed in a surprisingly thick and viscous sesame dressing. Its nuttiness was a bit too obvious and cloying – standard sesame seed oil would likely have worked far better.

Sprout pout.

Although the mushroom salad consisted of enoki, shimeji and shiitake mushrooms, all three merged into a indistinguishable melange. They were nonetheless pleasing with a taut slipperiness, while the soy dressing provided a sharp and umami hit.

The proprietor seems like a fun guy.

Little pan-fried pork medallions and ginger sandwiched in between daikon moons won’t be to everyone’s liking as the daikon added a sharp crispness. It did offset the relative spice of the ginger, while the pork had plenty of juicy meatiness to enjoy.

Pigging out.

The special of battered, deep fried chicken was oddly described as ‘Korean fried chicken’ rather than karaage. Like the chilli fried cauliflower though, it bore more of a resemblance to kung pao chicken. Taut and slick batter easily slid off the mini chicken drumsticks, just as easily as the meat detached itself from the bones. The lightly spicy and tangy sauce, flecked with sesame seeds to little effect, was more tart and vinegary rather than the fermented bean-ish taste I’d normally associate with Korean sauces. It’s not bad overall, but it’s clearly not a permanent fixture for a reason.

This review’s procrastination was brought to you, in part, by online kitten videos.

Dense, fatty, meaty cubes of pork belly were infused with a powerful soy-derived saltiness that was intensely pleasurable. The tempura egg was almost a worthy accompaniment – the almost-set richness of the egg yolk was pleasing. The thick, stodgy batter – bereft of crisp, airy lightness – most certainly was not.

Oink and cluck.

A square deal.

Failed to meet eggs-pectations.

The Verdict

It seems contrary and odd that the most touristy stretch of Soho has better yakitori than Shoreditch, but that really is the case – Yumi Izakaya’s skewered chicken dishes set the standard for everyone else. The donburi and okonomiyaki are top-notch too, with only the clumsy deep-fried dishes letting the side down. Still, such a trifecta shouldn’t be sneezed at when many eateries in Japan specialise in only one dish rather the sprawling smorgasbords seen over here. Don’t be like one of those daft tourists who passed over this unassuming eatery in favour of Bella Italia or Yo! Sushi – Yumi Izakaya really is worth your time.

What to order: Donburi; Salads; Okonomiyaki; Yakitori

What to skip: Anything deep-fried

Name: Yumi Izakaya

Address: 67 Shaftesbury Avenue, London W1D 6EX

Phone: none listed

Web: http://yumirestaurants.com/

Opening Hours: seven days a week noon – 00.30. 

Reservations: not taken

Average cost for one person excluding soft drinks and tip: £45-50 approx. (you’ll pay around £15 less if you’re not as ravenous as I am)

Rating: ★★★★☆

This review of a Yucatan restaurant is a break from The Picky Glutton’s usual London-based coverage

Rosas & Xocolate is an odd name for a restaurant and an even odder name for a hotel. Even if it didn’t have a distinctive name, the pink yet graceful mansion-esque premises is hard to miss.

The dining room at Rosas & Xocolate isn’t as big or as grand as the series of rooms at the nearby Kuuk, but it’s arguably more cosy – especially with the picturesque courtyard (sadly not photographed). This may well have helped with the service too – it was far more friendly and efficient. The tasting menu was relatively short, consisting of only seven courses, leaving less room for the occasional dud to hide.

The bread was nothing to write home about, but the choice of roasted garlic oil as an accompaniment was genius – why hasn’t anyone thought of that before?

Bruschetta topped with salmon pate won’t win any awards for originality, but it was creamy and distinctly flavoured.

Canape.

More complex and less successful was the rocket salad with the peppery leaves cancelling out the sweetness of the roasted figs and strawberries. Crunchy and nutty cocoa nibs added a nice bit of texture, but the alleged presence of coffee was hard to detect.

I put a fruit rocket in my mouth.

Tender octopus served at room temperature was joined by a thin, yet sharp and citrusy sauce. All of this contrasted neatly with the habanero sorbet which provided spicy heat, but in a cool, smooth and supple form. It sounds weird, but it all came together beautifully well, with the spice playing off the sweetness while the trickling meltiness of the sorbet complimenting the tenderness of the octopus.

Today’s procrastination was brought to you by Public Enemy and Angel Haze.

Tender, squishy and fresh little scallops contrasted well with nutty, chewy little pieces of corn. The XO-ish sauce bound the two together, which is just as well as the avocado smear brought little to the proceedings.

No scorn here.

The seafood trio ended with seared tuna, but the thin tuna slices were disappointingly texture-less. The soy glaze on the underside of the fish was little consolation and sat uneasily on the tongue next to the vinegary sharpness of the finely chopped peppers and baby spinach.

Out of tune.

Although small, slices of duck were nonetheless meaty, fatty and mildly earthy too with a hint of crisp skin. Although the vegetable accompaniments failed to make much of an impression, crisp and meaty black pudding-esque sausage crumbs proved to be an enjoyable garnish for the duck.

No quackery here.

The only dessert was a deconstructed chocolate tart. The bittersweetness of the chocolate was balanced out neatly by squidgy cream. The tart wasn’t just dependent on the dark chocolate for taste though – light yet lip-smacking caramel and fluffy coconut sponge were complimented by the chocolate rather than overwhelmed by it, while the nuttiness of the smooth corn-flavoured ice cream cut through all the richness. Pleasing and well-crafted.

Don’t be a tart.

The Verdict

Given the relative brevity of Rosas & Xocolate’s tasting menu, I’d normally reserve judgment until after a few return visits. But since it’s sadly unlikely I’ll be returning to Mexico’s Yucatan peninsula anytime soon and the tasting menu was still enjoyable, I think it’s safe to say that, while a little hit and miss, the cooking is more than good enough to lure you away from its grander but ultimately far less satisfying competition.

Name: Rosas & Xocolate

Address: Paseo de Montejo 480×41, Colonia Centro, Mérida, Yucatán, Mexico

Phone: 0052 999 924 29 92

Web: http://www.rosasandxocolate.com/restaurante-bar-dup/restaurante.htm (Spanish and English, although the Spanish version of the site has more information)

Opening Hours: seven days a week noon-midnight.

Reservations: highly recommended

Total cost for one person excluding soft drinks and tip: MXN700 (£28 approx. at time of writing) 

Rating: ★★★★☆

Hidden Shoreditch gem finally gives Mexican food its due

Britain’s continuing love affair with the US manifests itself in our culture in many ways, not least in the number of barbecue and burger restaurants springing up across the capital. The cuisine of America’s southern neighbour has been far more neglected though – far fewer new Mexican restaurants have opened in the years since my massive taco and burrito group test. This is a real shame, as it means there’s been less progress in improving the quality of London’s Mexican food. Until now.

Santo Remedio is a small Shoreditch restaurant that has taken over the former premises of the now sadly defunct Mamita Que Chorizo. Unlike many of the other Mexican eateries in London, Santo Remedio not only manages to eschew decorative chintz but also has service, that’s both welcoming and efficient.

The real star of Santo Remedio, though, is the food. Its deceptively short menu hides some real gems.

The upstairs is for drinking and tacos only, but if you ask very, very nicely, then the kindly staff may let you eat bigger dishes up here.

First things first

If there’s one dish that will both set Santo Remedio apart from its competitors and simultaneously put off a lot of potential customers, then it’s the grasshopper guacamole. That might sound gimmicky, but grasshoppers are a very traditional Oaxacan snack – although they’re not a national favourite either. During my all too brief trip to the south of Mexico, more than one tourist from the north of the country politely grimaced as they turned down my offer of a gnarly little grasshopper.

Grasshoppers for sale in a Oaxacan market.

The guacamole itself was chunky, creamy and lightly zesty – a far cry from the limp guacamole often available elsewhere. It wasn’t cloying, overly buttery or watery. The grasshoppers only added a little crispy nuttiness though – they weren’t as crisp, moreish or spicy as the ones I had in Oaxaca.

Hop to it.

A far better Oaxacan-style dish was the chicken wings. The meat itself may have been meagre and unimpressive, but that didn’t really matter as it served as a conveyor for the dark, richly nutty mole. Although it’s not quite as layered and complex as some of the moles I had in Mexico, it’s not too far off.

Wingman.

The tortillas used in the pork tacos were thick but surprisingly bland. I’m willing to overlook this deficiency though. Not only because the tortillas improved upon subsequent visits, but because of the brilliantly executed pork. Firm, meaty strands had a deep fruity undertone and moreish edge. Simple in construction yet boldly flavoured, layered and complex – this is the standard of taco that I spent so much time, calories and money searching for.

Three little pigs.

The noble pig.

As good as they were, the pork tacos turned out to be the warm-up act for the octopus main. The firm tentacle had a subtle bittersweet undertone. One part spice and one part chocolate, it was exquisitely complex and satisfying. It was so dreamy, I nearly dry-humped the chef in gratitude.

Sucker punch.

A side of black beans were firm, but nonetheless soft enough to be yielding to the bite. A moreish undertone was perhaps a bit too strident to truly compliment the more nuanced octopus, but it was still enjoyable.

The tortillas were a bit meh, but I guess you can’t have it all.

There’s only one dessert at Santo Remedio – churros. The fried doughnut sticks arrived far too hot, needing more resting time. While they were evenly crisp on the outside, they were wispy on the inside rather than soft and fluffy. At least the dulche de leche dipping sauce actually tasted of caramel, rather than the one-dimensional cloying sweetness you would get elsewhere.

This week’s procrastination was brought to you, in part, by Scrabble.

My non-alcoholic drink of choice at Santo Remedio has to be the tamarind juice. Syrup-like in its sweetness, yet not at all viscous or cloying, it was eminently refreshing.

The remedy for what ails you.

Going back for seconds

Better quality tortillas graced the chicken tacos – thick and fluffy with a gentle nuttiness, they set the standard for all corn flour tortillas everywhere. The chicken filling was very similar to the pork, but none the worse off for it – meaty, moist strands with a fruity, orange-esque edge.

Three birds.

Birds of a feather.

Chunky yet soft potatoes came dressed in the same rich mole that graced the chicken wings.

It’s a small kitchen. Think of it as judicious reuse of common elements. Or a vegetarian alternative to the chicken wings.

Meaty ox tongue had a yielding, yet gently springy texture. It was even better when generously coated in the accompanying peanut-based sauce, its coarse texture and sweet nuttiness proved to be profoundly complimentary.

Tongue pleaser.

The churros was better rested this time. The dulche de leche was just as good as it was before, while the exterior of the churros was just as well executed. The interior still wasn’t as soft and fluffy as I would’ve liked though.

I chu chu choose you.

Three is the magic number

Cactus tacos used the same high quality tortillas that grace the pork tacos. The tender texture of the gently sweet cactus pieces, with a texture lying somewhere in between pepper and melon, was jointed by lightly earthy melted cheese, a few chunks of starchy potato and a garnish of corn. Although not the best cactus tacos I’ve ever had, they’re still a fine rendition and a good vegetarian respite in an otherwise meat-heavy menu.

I’m just a big softie underneath my prickly demeanour.

The cactus tacos were outshone by the special of pig ear tacos. Unctuously moist and meaty rind-like bits of ear were neatly offset by sharp red onions and citrusy relish. These tacos are not only among the best I’ve ever had in this country, they’re also a classier and more approachable version of the somewhat similar pig ear pancakes available at Shotgun.

I’m all ears.

Cactus turned up again in the coleslaw, with a smoky, lightly creamy and zesty sharp dressing. Its layered taste set this side dish apart from all their other mundane coleslaws I’ve ever had.

No catch coleslaw.

A special of lamb cutlets saw the chops cooked rare, so the flesh was tender with a bit of chew. This contrasted neatly with the crisp crust which had been lightly seasoned and blessed with a moreish rub. Although it’s not the best lamb dish I’ve ever come across, it’s a highly accomplished one nonetheless.

Chop shop.

The churros remained unchanged.

I dough nut know why I like churros so much.

Go fourth and multiply

I’ve never been a huge fan of quesadillas and the special of hibiscus quesadilla did little to change this opinion. Stiff tortillas were filled with melted cheese that was moderately creamy and elastic, while the hibiscus provided a mild herby earthiness. It wasn’t bad, just a little too subtle for its own good.

Not all specials are all that special.

A far better starter was the elote – sweet and tender corn on the cob with a mild spicy and smoky muskiness from its spiced cheese topping.

Some say my captions are cheesy or corny. This one is both.

The moist strands of meat in the beef tacos had the distinction of actually tasting of beef. The hearty, moderately smoky beefiness was neatly offset by the crisp and lightly spiced relish.

There are roses in between my thighs.

The roasted vegetable salad felt more like the autumnal accompaniment to a Sunday roast, but with the meat replaced by more vegetables. The big portion consisted of some beetroot, butternut squash, cauliflower and red onions, but predominately carrots. Textures ranged from firm to crunchy then tender. The sheer size of it made for a rather dull chew, especially as there wasn’t enough of the tahini-like pumpkin seed sauce to go around. It was by far the most distinctive element here, so its meagreness undermined this heap of cheap vegetables.

A big heap of vegetables does not make a salad.

There was no improvement in the churros, but there was also no regression either. I can live with that.

Dude, it’s getting hard to come up with new churros-related captions.

The Verdict

Other reviews have emphasised the authenticity of Santo Remedio’s dishes, but I think that’s missing the real point. The small but generally adept kitchen has managed to capture the deft lightness of touch and complex layering of bold flavours that characterises the very best Mexican cooking – characteristics so often missing from London’s other Mexican restaurants.

Santo Remedio isn’t perfect, but it is good. Very good. It serves the best Mexican food I’ve had outside of Mexico thus far. If anyone else tells you otherwise, then slap them hard before hurrying down to Shoreditch.

What to order: Tacos; Octopus; Ox tongue

What to avoid: Roasted vegetable salad

Name: Santo Remedio

Address: 22 Rivington Street, London EC2A 3DY

Phone: none listed

Web: http://www.santoremedio.co.uk

Opening Hours: Monday – Friday noon-15.00 and 18.00-22.30. Saturday noon-23.30. Closed Sunday.

Reservations: only accepted for groups of five to ten people – if you can get this many people together then reservations are essential.

Average cost for one person including soft drinks and service charge: £35-40 approx.

Rating: ★★★★★

This review of a Yucatan restaurant is a break from The Picky Glutton’s usual London-based coverage

Hotel breakfasts can be a repetitive, dispiriting experience. Over the course of a few weeks in Mexico, I stayed at mostly mid-range hotels. Most of them seemed to enjoy inflicting omelettes or fried eggs with toast on their guests for breakfast. While there’s nothing wrong with either omelettes or fried eggs, bland oeuf fatigue led me to seek out other options during my stay in Merida, the charming and varied if drenchingly humid capital of Mexico’s Yucatan state.

La Chaya Maya, as it name indicates, aims to serve traditional Maya/Yucateco cuisine. The branch of La Chaya Maya in the centre of the city is small, but the staff, many of whom also speak English, were uniformly polite and efficient. In a shtick aimed at the tourist trade, a few were garbed in allegedly traditional Mayan dress with one lady making tortillas by hand in the middle of the dining area. It does open early and close late though – conveniences that shouldn’t be overlooked.

Breakfasts at La Chaya Maya

Pork tacos for breakfast might seem odd, but a serious meat craving led me to order them. The tortillas were thick, fluffy and nutty, but the overly soft and only mildly moreish strands of pork were underwhelming. The less said about the weak and watery coffee, the better.

Take the wrong turn on the way to the bathroom and you’ll end up in the indoor car park. As you do.

On a second breakfast, I opted for the huevos motulenos. A crispy tortilla was topped with a runny fried egg as well as a nutty puree of black beans and sweet, starchy plantains. The melange of melted cheese, diced ham, peas and tomato sauce was indistinct and unremarkable though. At least there were fresh tortillas on the side to mop it all up.

All the food groups on one plate.

The horchata was a tad watery but refreshing with a milky, lightly sweetened soy drink-esque quality to it. A chilled drink made from chaya, a local leafy green plant and folk remedy meant to cure all ills, was refreshing and mildly sweet but otherwise unremarkable.

Lon lon.

It is… green.

Dinner at La Chaya Maya

Breakfast was what attracted me to La Chaya Maya in the first place, but it was a dinner there that was far more memorable. A huge portion of Papadzule saw egg-stuffed tortillas doused in a generically creamy sauce that bludgeoned the palate instead of caressing it. It would’ve been bearable in a smaller portion size, but the gut busting shovel load here made it a real chore.

Overstuffed.

Much more interesting was the releno negro. Firm, moist turkey thighs were covered in a black sauce that didn’t look like much but had a peppery moreishness and a hint of grit to it too. A Scotch egg-style breaded and rice-flecked egg accompaniment was unexpectedly odd, but nonetheless pleasing with the malty graininess of its coating.

Blackbird.

One of the best things about visiting countries outside of the Euro-American geographical core is the often weird and wonderful varieties of fruit on offer. A fruit platter for dessert may have been small, but it was nonetheless varied and beguiling. The ciruela was a fleshy, tamarind-esque plum, the nance tasted like a citrusy pear while the ciricote resembled a mildly musky kumquat.

Glistening balls.

The Verdict

Given that La Chaya Maya is firmly placed on the well-beaten tourist path, it’s a shame that its rendition of Yucateco cuisine, little known outside Mexico, was such a mixed bag. Its sprawling menu gives the illusion of choice, while ultimately failing to execute Yucateco cuisine in the best possible way. Even so, it’s probably worth checking out at least once despite this inconsistency and its cheesy ticks. The welcoming service goes a long way and there are some interesting dishes to be had, if you can tease them out of the long-winded menu.

What to order: Releno negro; Fruit

What to skip: Pork tacos; Papadzule

Name: La Chaya Maya

Branch tried: Street 62 x 57, Centro Mérida, Yucatán, Mexico

Phone: 0052 999 928 4780

Web: http://www.lachayamaya.com/index2.html

Opening Hours: seven days a week 07.00-23.00. 

Reservations: highly recommended the closer you get to the weekend

Average cost for one person including soft drinks but excluding tip: MXN 105 approx. for breakfast (approx £5); MXN210 approx. for dinner (approx £9)

Rating: ★★★☆☆

This review of a Cancun restaurant is a break from The Picky Glutton’s usual London-based coverage

El Bulli, Ferran Adria’s famed modernist restaurant, must have employed half a continent’s worth of people given the number of chefs claiming some connection to that now closed Catalan institution. Benazuza is located half a world away in the basement of Oasis Sens, a sprawling oceanside resort in Cancun, Mexico.

Oasis Sens is inoffensive enough once you’re inside, which is more than can be said overall for the strip of resorts in which it’s located. Cancun’s hotel zone, as it’s known, is a strip of monolithic, generic, guarded and gated hotels converging on a roundabout of cheap bars. Here, countless US college students have gyrated and drank their way into a concussion. The entire revolting artifice is enough to turn you into a Communist and a Baptist simultaneously. It’s like Vegas-on-Sea, but with even less class and only slightly more taste.

Being located within the bowels of Oasis Sens can be more of a liability than a benefit for Benazuza though. A poolside hotel crooner belting out butchered cover versions of Queen was audible within the dining room, while the air conditioning (a necessity in the tropics) was on the fritz for the second day running on the evening of my visit. I doubt this was the experience ‘to awaken your senses’ that the chef had in mind.

‘Yes, hello. Someone appears to have written and drawn meaningless graffiti on your wall. Oh, it’s PR guff and it’s meant to be there? I’m so sorry for you.’

It’s a dreary restaurant where the bar looks more interesting than the dining room.

The tasting menu kicks off with a course of drinks at the bar, whether you want them or not. The non-alcoholic concoctions I imbibed were modestly refreshing at best. Coconut flavoured ice was fine. A shot of peach nectar dotted with rice crackers made to look like worms was meant to evoke mezcal – an odd association to make when serving someone profoundly booze-averse. A tame watermelon cocktail with parsnip crisps on the side was forgettable, save for the mini crisps bag. More memorable was the sharp lime sorbet in an ‘egg shell’ actually made from sugar, as was the curl of apple tinted with beetroot juice and nestled in a rose. Given the lack of air con, this parade of cold liquids would’ve been better appreciated through the meal.

Ice ice baby.

You’re not worming your way out of this one.

The occasionally playful presentation did admittedly bring a smile to my face.

Walking on egg shells.

Rosy cheeked.

An amuse bouche taco filled with zesty cream and avocado was more like a quirky spring roll, but it did at least pique my interest at what was to come. Sadly, what was to come didn’t live up to its billing.

Roll back.

Tuna wrapped in seaweed and served on a bed of seeds had a vague Japanese quality, but this only left me hankering for proper Japanese sashimi.

Permission to Land.

Crunchy corn crackers filled with a zesty cream seemed like an unnecessary repeat of the first taco.

A little more distinctive, if no more successful and quite cliched to boot, was an oddly doughy disc topped with foie gras and salty, creamy caviar. The two fine dining cliches were somewhat complimentary, if ultimately too transient to leave much of an impression.

Polly’s got some crackers.

Double trouble.

Foie gras turned up again, this time at the centre of a taco. The morsel of foie was too minuscule to make an impact, even as an amuse bouche, while the mini tortilla was oddly reminiscent of the pancakes served with Beijing roast duck. At least the avocado tempura was pleasing – crisp then creamy, with no excess oil.

I see mini deep fryer baskets as presentation have made their way to Mexico.

I’m not sure which was odder – baby corn served with an oddly spiced cream or the the mini bao-style pork bun. Both were bland and left me filling that I’d left out of a particularly hilarious in-joke.

Maize of confusion.

Piglet.

Foie gras turned up again, but this was the least successful attempt yet with the liver overwhelmed by sweet mango jelly and nutty almond. Thankfully, this was the last foie gras dish of my meal – misconceived or otherwise.

Stop foisting half-arse foie on diners!

An egg shell came filled with something that I could finally get my teeth into – grainy and gritty Oaxacan sausage morsels provided a pleasing contrast in texture to the starchy potato foam.

So much to eat in one lifetime.

A green pepper jelly accompanied by onion foam and corn cream was just one blob of incoherent wispiness too far.

The blob.

Sizzling mini steak and pepper tacos were playfully presented with the fluffy and nutty tortillas served on the side, while the fillings were arrayed like a mini multi-coloured piano. It was one of the most satisfying dishes of the evening and at its heart, not coincidentally perhaps, one of the most traditional too.

Piano keys.

Buttery salmon tartare was neither elevated nor brought down by its ‘cannelloni’ vegetable wrapping. The modestly smoking chipotle sauce was an odd choice and didn’t really suit the fish.

It looks like a Wall’s Twister ice cream.

Shorn spears of white asparagus had a pleasingly yielding give and bite, but the tamarind sauce was surprisingly dull.

Spear me.

Although wrapped in what looks like Rorschach paper, the tuna actually came covered in inked filo pastry. The filo was neither here nor there though and the fish was overwhelmed by the distinctive sweetness of the sweet potato purée.

Rorschach.

Moist, pink and tender lamb partially made up for the crimes committed against the tuna, even if the generically moreish blobs of sauce seemed like a missed opportunity.

It was pink, really. Sorry for the iffy photo, folks.

Oddly herby jelly was probably intended as a palate cleanser, except my palate was thoroughly bored at this point. And I’m still befuddled as to why the jelly was presented in clam shells.

Jelly clams not jellied clams.

Bread pudding arrived covered in a dome of aniseed foam that, sadly, receded quickly – I was hoping for the compulsive gastronomic equivalent of popping bubble wrap. Although soft and somewhat chewy, the bread pudding was overshadowed by a sweet mango sorbet.

Bubble bubble, toil and trouble.

A caramel chocolate lollipop was remarkable not for its taste, but for its cherry-like appearance. The accompanying white chocolate lollipop, a sort of mini Magnum, didn’t stick in the mind either. Neither were bad, just unexceptional.

Still better than Chupa Chups.

Sprite in a test tube may have a somewhat quirky and fun appearance, but it’s still just Sprite in a test tube. More interesting was lime jelly on lime ‘skin’ – a sharp, gelatinous pairing that was one of the few enjoyable things I had all evening.

Failed experiment.

The Verdict

The biggest crime that Benazuza’s tasting menu committed against my palate and sensibilities wasn’t that it was systemically misconceived and often only pleasing at the superficial visual level. It’s that it was dull. Boring. Unremarkable. Tepid. Limp. If this is the best an alleged graduate of El Bulli can do, then remedial lessons are clearly in order.

Name: Benazuza

Address: Oasis Sens, Boulevard Kukulkan km. 19.5, Zona Hotelera, 77500 Cancún, Quintana Roo, Mexico

Phone: 0052 998 891 5000

Web: https://es-la.facebook.com/RestauranteBenazuza

Opening Hours: seven days a week 07.00-22.00

Reservations: yeah, if you want

Total cost for one person including soft drinks but excluding tip: MXN1000 (£40 approx.)

Rating: ★★☆☆☆

Some say it’s the best Thai in London. All we know is that we call it bloody brilliant.

It’s very easy to become jaded and disillusioned when covering London’s restaurants. From the devised-by-committee initiatives to the cynical tourist trap theme parks, from overwrought concepts and dull chains to the atrocious bandwagon jumpers, there’s no shortage of mediocre and down right bad restaurants in the capital. Every now and again though, a restaurant comes along that makes you feel glad to be alive. Som Saa, a former Hackney pop-up that’s now settled down in the Spitalfields border lands between the City and Whitechapel, is one such restaurant.

Thai food is turning over a new leaf in London.

Rough hewn.

Som Saa does have its faults. Unless you happen to be part of a group of four, five or six people, it doesn’t take reservations – prepare to queue or cool your heels at the bar. And the service, while charming and friendly, can sometimes be sluggish – especially when the place is full and frantic. But these problems are all forgotten when faced with the glories and wonders of the menu.

First things first

It’s worth bearing in mind that much of the joy in Som Saa’s dishes comes not from the provenance of the meat or fish, but from the artistry in the preparation and execution of the sauces and seasonings. A good example is the pork neck starter. The dense and lightly chewy yet lean pork is by no means bad, but it would be nothing without its sour, zesty and umami fish sauce.

mu yaang

The same principle extends to the pork curry. While the strands of pork shoulder were dense and tender, the pork belly was unremarkable. That didn’t matter though give the exemplary curry sauce – its beguiling musky sweetness was enlivened even further by crisp punchy ginger.

gaeng hung lay

The eggplant used in the aubergine salad was fleshy and smoky, topped with so-so strands of diced, caramelised prawns or prawn floss. It’s good but it’s no baba ghanoush, at least not when taken on its own. It’s the dressing that’s the star here – an electrifying medley of sharp and bright herbs with a cumulative spicy heat. Although only moderately hot, the soothing effect of the mildly runny egg was still welcome. If aubergine had tasted this good when I was younger, then I wouldn’t have foolishly forsaken it for so long.

Not really a salad, at least in Western terms, but who care when it tastes this good.

Chilled, cold brewed jasmine tea proved to be a fitting accompaniment to many of the smoky and spicy dishes at Som Saa across all of my visits. Despite its almost fully transparent water-like appearance, its pronounced floral smokiness enhanced and complimented many of the dishes here.

[I didn’t bother taking a photo of the tea as it really does look like a glass of water]

The palm sugar ice cream was uncomfortably cold in places, but it’s worth bearing with as its syrupy sugary sweetness meshed well with the firm, slightly fibrous, tangy and delicately sweet banana.

kluey thort nahm dan beep

Going back for seconds

If you do prop up the bar while waiting for a table, then it’s worth snacking on the pork sausage. Coarse and meaty with a sour tang and a mildly fruity sweetness, it’s delectable on its own or wrapped in cabbage and taken with crunchy peanuts and a small but seismically hot chilli.

sai krok

Lightly crispy and chewy bits of pork belly were covered in a reddish brown rub. It was a surprisingly muted affair though, with a mild nuttiness at most and even that may have been placebo.

pad prik king

A far better curry was the one based around braised beef cheeks. The tender and sinewy chunks of beef were made whole by a richly coconutty and herby sweet sauce. The beef may have been cheap cuts, but the exquisite sauce elevated this dish into one fit for royalty.

Cheeky curry.

Both the pork and beef curries were quite mild, leaving it to the son tam isaan to scorch my mouth with its spicy heat. Crisp vegetables came doused in a surprisingly thick and reddy brown fish sauce that was powerfully hot when it wasn’t lip pursingly sour and tangy. If there was ever a salad that could level cities and shrivel gonads, then it’s this one (and that’s a good thing).

son tam isaan

Squidgy poached jackfruit imparted its musky, earthy and lightly syrupy sweetness to the puddle of creamy coconut milk that it was served in. The bonding of fruit and milk was cemented by grilled rice, its softness and caramel-like sweetness adding another layer of both texture and flavour.

kanon waan dtom gati

Humble bundle.

Fishy threesome

A bar snack of prawns served on betel leaf would’ve been disappointing due to the underwhelming crustacean, if not for the boldly flavoured garnish. Sweet, crispy shallots combined with a big slap of sour, zingy, tangy and bitter herbs. It blows away the cobwebs and then some.

bai chaploo yum chakram

A similar, but not identical, mix of herbs coursed through a salad of minced pork and otherwise underwhelming prawns. The effect of the herbs was magnified by a white turmeric infused fish sauce that sizzled, smouldered and electrified my mouth. Astonishing.

yum kamin khao

Moderately buttery and lightly smoky slices of trout were joyful, whether taken with fresh, powerfully scented sprigs of dill and mint or without. Neither the herbs nor the lightly smoky, chipotle-esque, harissa-like spice paste really suited the trout, but for once that didn’t really matter. When all the individual elements were so well-crafted in their own right, it was of little consequence that they didn’t really mesh together.

Pout for trout.

You don’t order the jungle curry for the unremarkable flecks of meaty white fish bobbing about in the thin green sauce. You order it for the sauce itself and the big fiery French kiss in the gullet it gives you, courtesy of bitter, sharp, crisp and citrusy herbs including holy basil and lemongrass. Along with crisp spherical mini Thai aubergines, it’s potent enough to make your eyes water and beads of sweat to dribble down from your brow. It’s a glorious concoction that puts every other jungle curry I’ve ever had in London to shame.

King of the jungle.

A dessert smorgasbord of lychees, mango slices, jackfruit pieces, papaya chunks, grapefruit segments and pitaya/dragonfruit slices was faultlessly fresh and delicately sweet and juicy.

jan ponlamai

Fantastic Fourth

A bar snack of chicken larb might look like distinctly un-poultry like, but these little parcels of chicken were meaty, umami and a little salty too – characteristics enhanced by the sour dipping sauce on the side.

Larb face.

Baron Greenback just about holds on to his status as one of my dining companions despite his unquestioning fondness for bland, unremarkable chicken dishes. Som Saa may have finally persuaded him to raise his standards with its grilled chicken leg. From the taut, slippery and glossy skin to the moist, fresh and just-cooked flesh, the entire leg had a sweet and umami character. This was complimented and bolstered by the sweet and smoky tamarind-based dipping sauce. Chicken rarely tastes this good.

Fuck Nando’s.

Almost any chicken dish following the grilled chicken leg was bound to be anti-climactic, so the subtle and understated stir fried chicken with chrysanthemum leaves is best savoured before the chicken leg rather than after it. Tender and moreish chook chunks were joined by morning glory-style greens resplendent with garlic and ginger.

pad dtok guichai

A garlicky moreish soup was dotted with bobbing bits of squidgy, milky tofu. Mushrooms added a touch of gentle earthiness that somehow didn’t seep into this soup’s clean aftertaste. A class act.

gaeng juet het

The Burmese pork curry was just as good as it was before. The whole deep-fried sea bass, on the other hand, wasn’t quite as accomplished. The white chunks of fish were firm and meaty, but the punchy, crisp and bright herbs weren’t quite enough to offset the stodgy crunch of the batter and skin.

The bar can be a rather convivial place while waiting for a table to sample this beauty.

Look into my eyes.

The poached jackfruit dessert was just as good as it was before, as was the palm sugar ice cream with grilled banana.

If the guys at Busaba aren’t taking notes from Som Saa, then they really, really should be.

Pass the parcel.

This food a-peels to me.

Five Go To Dinner But Without Lashings of Ginger Beer

Although all three of Som Saa’s regular curries are based around red meat and fish, the restaurant does have a vegetarian curry which changes more or less daily. The Euro Hedgie and I had the opportunity to sample a mild yellow curry which was very creamy, thanks to its coconut base, with tender potatoes and butternut squash providing the bulk. Although far from bad, it was somewhat one-dimensional and undemanding compared to the meat curries.

Yellow belly.

Oddly listed under the soups section of the menu, the chilli, ginger and shrimp paste relish had a dry, prickly heat which I found very agreeable, but it failed to impress The Euro Hedgie who wanted a far more potent, salty, umami punch. We both agreed that the odd selection of crisp and refreshing crudites and crunchy pork scratchings were odd and ultimately unsuccessful accompaniments for the relish.

nahm prik nuum kap mu

Just out of shot: a soothingly mild boiled egg half.

Oddly cabbage-like, the banana flower salad was nonetheless a winner with the taut, slippery leaves joined by lean, supple and meaty shreds of chicken. A tart and sour dressing bound meat and leaves together into a satisfying whole.

Thanks, petal.

A soup of duck and duck offal wasn’t what I was expecting at all. Thin and opaque, it was bursting with the bold, bright flavour of lemongrass. Unfortunately, the meagre bits of duck and duck offal, while tender, were disappointingly tame in taste. As the Euro Hedgie pointed out, a heartier meat reduction might not have been very Thai, but it would’ve better fulfilled the earthy, funky promise of duck offal.

My duck blind isn’t working.

A garlicky selection of competently stir-fried greens wasn’t very exciting, but it was still notable for what it wasn’t rather than what it was. It wasn’t stodgy, heavy, oily nor did it consist of cheap filler cabbage. These are all common pitfalls for plates of stir fried vegetables. This may be a modest achievement, but it’s nothing to be sneezed at.

pad pak

Palm sugar ice cream with grilled banana was just as good as it was before. Ultimately though, my favourite dessert at Som Saa has to be the poached jackfruit. It was even good enough to seriously impress The Euro Hedgie, a notorious dessert snob. As he put it, it’s that rare dessert that doesn’t rely on spiralling levels of sugar or poor-quality chocolate for its appeal. Instead, it was elegantly well-crafted and luxuriously layered.

Beige, but good beige.

Jackanory.

Get stuffed.

The Verdict

Given that the entire population of the Home Counties appears to have decamped to Thailand at one point or another, either for gap years or holidays, it’s surprising that it’s taken so long for a critical mass of Thai restaurants worthy of the name to emerge in London. Even the so-so dishes here are still better than what often passes for ‘good’ dishes at other Thai restaurants. Som Saa’s cooking isn’t for the dull and lily-livered who blanche at foods that are ‘too rich’ or ‘too spicy’ though. Overflowing with herbs, spices, panache and verve, Som Saa is electrifyingly terrific.

What to order: Burmese-style pork curry; Beef cheek curry; Fermented pork sausage; Jungle curry; All the salads; All the soups; Grilled chicken leg; All the desserts

What to avoid: Dry red pork curry

Name: Som Saa

Address: 43A Commercial Street, Spitalfields, London E1 6BD

Phone: 020 7324 7790

Web: http://www.somsaa.com/

Opening Hours: Monday – Friday 17.00-23.30. Saturday 17.00-midnight. Sunday 17.00-22.30. Closed bank holidays.

Reservations: only accepted for groups of four to six people – otherwise first come, first seated.

Average cost for one person including soft drinks and service charge: £35-45 approx.

Rating: ★★★★★

A waste of Soho real estate

I haven’t heard the name Bukowski Grill in years – not since my round up of London’s best non-chain burgers. The Shoreditch branch of Bukowski fared poorly in those burger stakes, so it was no surprise when superior burger purveyors expanded far more rapidly across the city with Byron and Honest Burger taking the lead and Patty and Bun following behind.

Bukowski has not only opened a third branch in Soho, but jumped on the creaky barbecue bandwagon too. Interestingly, the word ‘barbecue‘ is almost entirely absent from Bukowski’s menu and website, but the implication is clear. Phrases such as ‘smoked’ and ’72 hour’ as well as classic barbecue dishes, from pulled pork to baby back ribs, appear on the menu. Unfortunately for the paying public, Bukowski’s words are bigger than its actual ability to do them justice.

First things first

You can order a half rack of baby back ribs as a starter or a full rack as a main. While the half rack wasn’t as disastrously cack handed as the version at Low, Slow and Juke, it was far from good. Although moderately tender, the dull, characterless meat was utterly dependent on the mildly smoky, tangy, sticky and boozy sauce sploodged on top for flavour.

No smoke and no fire.

Back away slowly.

The pulled pork came served in a crisply toasted bun that didn’t get in the way of the filling. The crisp and refreshing coleslaw avoided the usual trap of being cloying, but the pulled pork itself was a parody of what a good barbecued Boston butt should be. Mushy and excessively sweet, it’s the sort of thing that belongs in a jar of baby food and not on a plate for adults.

I’ve got a bad feeling about this.

Pig slurry.

Interestingly, Bukowski Grill’s Soho branch has its own version of the cornflake milkshake – a non-alcoholic drink I have only seen at Hawksmoor up until now. Although not bad, the distinctive sweet and nutty taste of cornflakes and crystal clear milk wasn’t as strong or as consistently present here as it was in Hawksmoor’s benchmark rendition.

Copycat.

Going back for seconds

A starter of pig cheeks was served thinly sliced. While mildly coarse, the cheeks were otherwise devoid of texture and taste. Not even the lightly fruity and spicy pickled peach relish was enough to make this dish memorable.

Spank my cheeks.

If you’ve accidentally brought a vegetarian friend to this meat restaurant, then they may well have to settle for these cauliflower fritters. In which case they’d end up hating you. Oddly reminiscent of a similar deep-fried cauliflower dish at the nearby Yumi Izakaya, the unremarkable florets were coated in a soggy batter. As if that wasn’t bad enough, the sauce had shades of bargain bucket sweet and sour Chinese takeaway to it – vaguely sour and spicy with some chunky onions and peppers chucked in. These are less cauliflower fritters and more a dreary vegetarian consolation prize, although that wouldn’t have the same ring to it when printed on a menu.

Restaurants need to stop committing war crimes against cauliflower.

The ’72 hour’ beef rib was very oddly presented, with small sliced strips of meat placed on top of the bone perpendicularly. The strips had crisp crusts and were admittedly tender with a mild amount of unctousness and smokiness, but this was ultimately quite tame. Sadly, the thick and hard strip of collagen was melded to the fat which made for joyless eating. This mishandling of meat might pass muster as a cheap cut of steak or as the filling in a Philly cheesesteak sandwich, but it’s a complete non-starter as a serving of ribs.

Doubletake.

Just as odd as the beef ‘rib’ was the accompanying ‘tobacco’ onions. They tasted mildly smoky, rather than of cancer, and were somewhat crispy and chewy. It’s not bad, but I’d rather some expertly prepared onion rings. Fat chance of that though.

The cornflake milkshake was a little stronger this time around, but it’s still a distant second to Hawksmoor’s superlative shake.

I’ve known quite a few flakes in my time.

Salted caramel soft serve ice cream mostly tasted of salt. Although one-dimensional, it would’ve been inoffensive enough if it wasn’t for the peanut brittle. Not only did it overwhelm my palate with an excess of sweet and salt, but it shattered into various jagged pieces that was just as unpleasant as it sounds. There’s brittle, then there’s an affront to the baking arts like this muck.

Shatterstar.

Freedom isn’t three

I’ve never understood the fetishisation of macaroni and cheese, especially as a restaurant and street food dish. It’s a comforting, but ultimately simple and unremarkable dish that’s best left at home and enjoyed there. Bukowski’s fried mac and cheese fritters did little to change my mind – the interior of bland cheese and soft pasta shells was utterly unremarkable. This dish did manage to embed its way into my memory a little with the soft breadcrumbed exterior of the mac and cheese cubes and mildly dill-like herb garnish, all of which made for a good impression of a vegetarian fillet-o-fish filling.

One for the easily impressed.

The fruit in the pickled watermelon salad was lightly tart, but not refreshing enough and thus struggled to stand out against the crumbly and mildly salt, but mostly chalky feta. At least the peanuts were crunchy and nutty, while the jalapenos were surprisingly spicy. Even so, this salad was in the end underwhelming due to its unbalanced and poor quality central pair of ingredients.

Pickled Glutton.

Smoked Toulouse sausage and confit duck leg should be a delightful combination, but the version here was disappointing. Or it would be disappointing, if my previous meals hadn’t trained me to expect very little from Bukowski Grill. Sporadic slices of sausage with a very artificial smokiness and garlickiness were almost as bad as the ineptly prepared beans – these were too hard and hadn’t been cooked through properly. The meagre duck leg wasn’t especially taut or fatty and was also a tad dry. This dish was so dull and poorly made, it was actively awful.

Don’t eat this. You have too much Toulouse.

The cornflake milkshake was much the same as it was before.

Shaken not stirred.

Going back and fourth

While the meat on the bones of the ‘smoked’ wings was tender, the smokiness was artificial while the bland sauce was inconsequential. Dismally dull.

Fly you fools!

The Purist burger was one of the better mains I’ve had at the Soho Bukowski Grill. This was largely due to the coarsely ground, slightly chewy patty. Lightly seasoned and somewhat sweet, it was easy to appreciate given the inoffensive bun and despite the chilled vegetables. It would’ve been a thoroughly good burger if it wasn’t for a surprising amount of greasiness – yet another worrying sign of ineptness from the kitchen.

Bunday.

For once, it’s not the lighting or my camera that made it look greasy. Dripping – and not in a good way.

Roasted potatoes needed more resting time – they were far too hot. Despite the scorching temperature, they were far too firm on the inside and not nearly fluffy enough either. There was a very mild beefy undercurrent to the crisp crust, presumably evidence of the beef dripping that these potatoes were roasted in, but it was too subtle and transient. In the end, these spuds were duds.

Dud spuds.

The cornflake milkshake was largely the same as it was before. It’s a bad sign when the milkshake is one of the least offensive parts of your meal.

Milking it.

The Verdict

While the barbecue at the Soho branch of Bukowski Grill wasn’t as cataclysmically dire as the bin liner served at Low, Slow and Juke, it was far from good and isn’t worth your time or money. The other dishes were generally mediocre, with some rising to half-decent but others sinking to new depths of diabolical dreariness. It’s telling when a restaurant’s clientele seems to mostly consist of tourists and half-drunk payday-celebrating office workers that don’t know any better. Do yourself a favour and don’t join them.

What to order: Possibly the burger

What to skip: Everything else

Name: Bukowski Grill

Branch tried: 10-11 D’Arblay Street, Soho, London W1F 8DT

Phone: 020 3857 4756

Web: http://bukowski-grill.co.uk

Opening Hours: Monday-Friday 08.00-22.30. Saturday 08.30-22.30 and Sunday 09.30-22.30.

Reservations: only really necessary on Fridays and weekends.

Average cost for one person including soft drinks but excluding tip: £25-35 approx.

Rating: ★★☆☆☆

Bait and switch tourist trap barbecue

For many people Bodean’s is syonymous with American-style barbecue in London, but that doesn’t mean the food is actually any good. As I discovered in my original BBQ group test, the Tower Hill and Fulham branches of Bodean’s were distinctly middling, average and underwhelming – and that’s before you consider all the barbecue restaurants that have opened since then.

I live in eternal optimism that Bodean’s will one day live up to its billing, but these hopes were dashed by the chain’s new Covent Garden branch. Occupying the premises that once housed Mishkin’s, it fits the decorative template established by previous Bodean’s – wooden panelling, cow skulls and booths. All this made the small space feel more oppressive than clubby.

Skull and crossbones.

No light at the end of this tunnel.

Despite pre-opening PR that claimed the Covent Garden branch would focus on Kansas City-style barbecue, the menu is almost an exact copy of the menus used at other Bodean’s branches. Enquiries about any potential specials, where such specialities might be found, was met with either bafflement or referral to the ‘specials’ section of the menu which contains decidedly non-barbecue dishes such as macaroni and cheese.

If Bodean’s put as much effort into its barbecue as it does into its social media snark, it would still be dire.

Baby back ribs, burnt ends and pulled pork at Bodean’s Covent Garden

With the absence of more Kansas City-style specialities, I was left to revisit the usual barbecue mainstays on Bodean’s menu. Baby back ribs had a lightly seasoned bark with a hint of very mild fruity sweetness. The meat underneath was bland and uninteresting though, save for a hint of gammon-like denseness towards the bit of pork belly left attached to this cut of meat.

Backs to the wall.

Back down.

Pulled pork was firm, but a tad dry. This mild dryness wasn’t as detrimental as the almost complete lack of fattiness and indeed any other form of character. If any sort of rub had been applied to this pork either before, during or after smoking, then it was a very thin and inconsequential application.

Brown out.

Surprisingly, the burnt ends weren’t half bad. Although not the best burnt ends I’ve ever had, the moist chunks were occasionally fatty, smoky and sweet – even if only lightly so. The beefy chunks were a little too reliant on the sharp and lightly spicy sauce for flavour, which I opted to have on the side instead of drizzled all over.

Burnout.

A side of coleslaw was surprisingly tart, firm and not at all cloying. Fries were crisp, crunchy and free of excess oil.

Beef short rib and pork spare ribs at Bodean’s Covent Garden

Given the small number of covers at the Covent Garden Bodean’s, the branch uses Qudini to manage queues. Given the receptionist your mobile number, and you’ll receive a text alert once your table is ready. Alternatively, you can keep track of your place in the queue using a mobile web interface. Either way, it enables you to queue virtually in the comfort of a nearby pub or coffee shop.

It’s a sad barbecue restaurant when the queuing system is better than the ribs.

A starter of pork spare ribs had a reasonably dense and smoky bark, but surprisingly little meat and even less fat. All this made for a desperately bland and unsatisfying appetiser.

Non starter.

The beef short rib was just as dispiriting, if not more so. There was a very mild hint of moreishness to the soft bark, but it was ultimately too transient to leave much of an impression. The meat underneath was moist and tender, but grey and flavourless with very little fat and what meagre collagen present was too waxy and hard to be enjoyable. All this made for such dull, monotonous eating that I ultimately couldn’t finish the short rib. Instead, I had the leftovers boxed up and gave the takeaway to the first homeless person I saw on my way home.

Boned.

Phoney.

The coleslaw remained unchanged. Cornbread muffins were soft and fluffy, but the nutty sweetness wasn’t nearly as strong as it should’ve been.

The Verdict

Bodean’s isn’t bad. There are far worse barbecue restaurants in London, such as Low, Slow and Juke, Grillstock and Bukowski Grill. Its dreary, lifeless mediocrity is nonetheless depressing, given that the chain has had so many years to get it right. As a chain, it does have the advantage of having lots of convenient locations but even this advantage is being chipped away. A growing critical mass of higher quality barbecue restaurants have opened up across the city from Soho, the City and Shoreditch to Whitechapel and Covent Garden itself. Go to Bodean’s if you can’t a table somewhere better, barbecue or otherwise, but don’t kid yourself that this is somehow the pinnacle of the American smoked arts. Bodean’s seems intent on wallowing in its own middling inferiority. Leave them to it.

What to order: Possibly the burnt ends and pulled pork

What to skip: Everything else

Name: Bodean’s

Branch tried: 25 Catherine Street, Covent Garden, London WC2B 5JS

Phone: 0207 257 2790

Web: http://www.bodeansbbq.com/site/coventgarden

Opening Hours: Monday-Saturday noon-23.00; Sunday noon-22.30. 

Reservations: not taken, except for large groups

Average cost for one person including soft drinks and service charge: £30-35 approx.

Rating: ★★★☆☆

Burger blogger puts his money where his mouth is

I usually try to avoid knowing too much about the people behind the restaurants I review. I find it’s more difficult to be critically honest when thinking about the deeply personal hopes, dreams, blood and sweat that go into opening and running a restaurant. It’s impossible, though, to ignore the background of the dude behind the Burgerac Burgershack residency at The Social bar in Fitzrovia. Burgerac was a seasoned burger reviewer and while I might not always have agreed with his opinions, I always respected them.

Burgerac’s Burgershack at The Social is actually his second residency, following the still-running occupation of The Royal Oak pub in Marylebone. Although the menu at The Social is noticeably shorter than the one at The Royal Oak, I think this is a good thing – shorter menus force kitchens to focus on what they do best and leave less room for duff dishes to hide.

That’s… an ‘interesting’ choice in decor.

The hamburger

Burgershack would have no good reason for existing if it couldn’t knock out a good, no-frills hamburger. Thankfully, Burgerac has nothing to be ashamed of with its plain jane burger. The soft, pliable bun stays out of the way (making repeat appearances across almost all the burgers here) and the entire thing was small enough that there was little risk of it falling apart. This lets the patty take centre stage – coarsely ground with a chewy bite. Although only just about cooked medium rare, it was pleasingly moist and meaty with a mildly sweet tang from the ketchup and an occasional stray slice of pickle. Although a tad small, if all burgers were this good then I’d have no reason to write about them.

I’m guessing ‘Burgerac’ is a play on the name ‘Bergerac’. Which will mean nothing to you if you were born after the 1980s.

Sadly, the fries were definitely fries and not proper chips. Still, at least they were crisp and not at all oily.

There are surreal cartoonish burger characters on the menu. Surreal enough to remind me of ‘Don’t Hug Me, I’m Scared’.

The chicken burger and mushroom burger

I’ve never had much love for chicken burgers and I’m not really convinced by Burgerac’s Korean-inspired Southern Seoul Chickenshack. The soft crumbed batter wasn’t at all crispy, which is usually what most Korean-style fried chicken aspires to, but this arguably makes it better suited for consumption in a burger. The whole chunk of breast underneath the batter was a success though – moist, meaty and hearty. There was little of the promised spring onions though, while the tame and lifeless Sriracha mayo was seriously misjudged.

While neither the spicy, nutty, funky taste of Korean gochujang-style sauce or the punchy, spicy tart tang of kimchi is to everyone’s taste, some version of either would’ve helped elevate this chicken burger above the level of merely satisfactory. It’s not worthy enough a successor to the litany of other Korean-inspired burgers that I’ve had before.

Seoul purpose.

Far better was the mushroom burger. It’s a compact creation unlikely to come apart. A hearty, slippery, stemless portobello mushroom lay at the centre. The burger doesn’t just rely on its earthy charms though – tart pickled onions were neatly counterbalanced by wispy but unmistakably earthy goat’s cheese for a surprisingly multilayered effect. Vegetarian burgers don’t have to be crap. In fact, they can be rather good as Burgerac shows.

There’s not mushroom for error.

The double cheeseburger

I usually skip cheeseburgers as the horrid American cheese tends to smother everything else. That’s not the case with the Hubba Hubba double cheeseburger, where the cheese faded into the background along with the bun. The vaunted ‘chipotle burger sauce’ was nothing of the sort – I’ve had gravy which tasted more like chipotle. That hardly matters though as the two patties were splendid – dense, coarsely ground and chewy despite both their slenderness and wandering onto the wrong side of medium rare. Even more remarkable was the subtle yet distinctive and addictive taste of mustard to the patties. I don’t want to overstate its effect, as it was gentle rather than strident or overpowering, but it’s so compelling that it may well have ruined all other burgers for me.

Double decker.

The coleslaw was surprisingly crisp, firm and tart. Pleasingly, it avoided the usual cloying, sickly dressing most coleslaws come mummified in. Instead, it came speckled with nutty sesame seeds and admittedly tame parsley for a nonetheless refreshingly different effect.

Crockery? Where we’re going, we don’t need crockery.

All the desserts are bussed in. I could have plumped for the reliably good Gelupo gelato, but I took a chance on the Sweet Cheesus cheesecake and you should too. Overpriced, given its small size, but nonetheless well formed, it progressed from the tangy caramelish topping to a fluffy and creamy middle layer, finishing with a dense biscuit bottom. Sweet.

Bite-sized cheesecakes need to be cheaper than £4.50.

The Verdict

Burgerac’s Burgershack makes exceedingly good beef and veggie burgers – and I’m not just saying that because he used to be a fellow reviewer. The plain hamburger and the mustard-infused double cheeseburger are fine exemplars of what can be done with ground beef and rocket to the top of my hard-to-please burger affections. If there’s one systemic flaw, it’s that portion sizes are a bit on the small side – especially the bite sized and therefore overpriced cheesecake. That’s easily fixed in most cases though – just order more. You won’t regret it.

What to order: Double cheeseburger; Hamburger; Coleslaw

What to skip: Possibly the Korean chicken burger

Name: Burgerac’s Burgershack at The Social

Address: The Social, 5 Little Portland Street, London W1W 7JD

Phone: 020 7636 4992

Web: http://www.burgershack.co

Opening Hours: Monday-Friday 12.30 – 15.00 and 18.00-21.00. 

Reservations: probably a good idea on and around weekends; otherwise not necessary

Average cost for one person including soft drinks: £18-25 approx.

Rating: ★★★★☆

Warm your cockles with blue cheese and dumplings

Most suburban and semi-suburban high streets have to make do with a string of chain restaurants, but the denizens of Woolwich doesn’t have to put up with such dreary, unimaginative, repetitive and frankly tedious slop. The streets branching off from the town centre host a string of interesting restaurants – Blue Nile, Viet Baguette and Kailash Momo. Eritrean, Vietnamese and Tibetan food all within two minutes of each other – it’s one of the many reasons I love London.

For reasons known only to smart-arse demographic analysts, there’s a curious cluster of Tibetan and Nepalese restaurants in south east London. Kailash Momo sits a few doors down from Blue Nile in Woolwich. While both are family-run affairs with low prices and eclectic cuisines that deserve wider recognition and appreciation, Kailash Momo has more rickety décor and service that’s less friendly, if more efficient.

First things first

The name highlights the main attraction at this restaurant – platters of momos, or dumplings, served either steamed or fried. The Euro Hedgie and I dived into a trough of steamed vegetable momos. The thick doughy skins had a filling of mildly tangy onions along with carrots and peas. These fairly ho-hum dumplings were livened up by a tame spicy sauce that, oddly, was served chilled.

Out on the lash.

No steam baskets here.

The fried pork momos were even less distinctive than the steamed vegetable versions. Crunchy, stodgy skins contained a bitty, uninspired pork filling dotted with what looked and tasted like spring onions.

Out of the frying pan.

And into my mouth.

Described as a sandwich by our waiter, the chicken shabalay was more like a Cornish pasty. I’ve recently started to develop a fondness for pasties, but this humdrum shabalay reminded me why I used to dislike them wherever they were from. Crunchy, stodgy pastry filled with bitty pieces of chicken that were, at best, mildly tangy. In the end, the shabalay was neither interesting nor satisfying.

When did the Cornish visit Tibet?

The Tibetan bread turned out to be a thick roti-style bread. Soft and slightly chewy, it was a pleasing carb delivery method with or without a curry to dip it into.

Don’t dread the bread.

Going back for seconds

The Euro Hedgie and I returned to try the chilli momos. The thick skins and anonymous meat weren’t very impressive, but the lightly piquant, slightly numbing heat was more pleasing.

Chillax.

Tibetan is one of the few East Asian cuisines that I know of where dairy plays a prominent role. Pairing pork and blue cheese shouldn’t work, but it does. The pork chura combined chunks of stewed pork in a spicy soup pepped up further by chunks of astringent blue cheese. The bold flavours were surprisingly complimentary.

Red state, blue state.

A case of the blues.

Dumplings are also available in soup at Kailash Momo, but the mok thuk wasn’t a good standard bearer for this style. Thin skinned steamed dumplings filled with anonymous meat were easily outclassed by the thin soup, even though the soup was only somewhat moreish.

For some reason I have Wrecking Ball stuck in my head.

Doing the splits.

Freedom isn’t three

The Tigmo steamed bread was basically a giant bao, but with a dense bready core instead of any extra filling. It had an attractive swirled appearance too. Although you’re probably meant to dip this into curry, topping it with offal proved to be surprisingly effective.

Gitmo is an anagram of tigmo. Coincidence? Yes, of course it is.

Coarse and rough chopped bits of offal had a mild tingly heat to compliment their pleasing texture.

Dishing the goods.

I wasn’t sure what to expect from the pork thukpa noodle soup, but I was still caught off guard by the bright and sharp Thai-esque soup flavoured with what tasted like lemongrass. The crisp vegetables and thick, wheaty chop suey-style noodles weren’t worth finishing, while the strips of earthy pork were somewhat more pleasing. A very peculiar and not entirely successful dish.

Expect the unexpected.

The pickled potato also proved to be a good bread topping. Served chilled, the sharp, refreshingly zingy chunks proved to be surprisingly addictive.

Potatoes don’t have to be boring.

Back and fourth

The pickled potato turned up again, this time as an accompaniment to the sel roti. This curious ring-shaped fried bread was well on its way to becoming a churros – the crisp exterior and light, fluffy interior were highly reminiscent of the classic Spanish and Mexican snack. It differed in that it was apparently made from rice flour rather than choux and was largely savoury rather than sweet. I say largely as the sel roti did have an occasional hint of coconut-esque sweetness which may have been my imagination. Although a tad too oily and bitty on the inside for my liking, this roti was still enjoyable – especially when taken with the sharp, lightly piquant potato and the spicier, refreshing and umami chilled tomato sauce.

Ring.

Once you scrape away the fried onions and peppers, the slices of chicken sausage were unsurprisingly not that different from their kosher counterparts. Soft, smooth and light, the meaty, modestly salty slices were good enough, even if they weren’t spicy in the slightest.

It’s somewhat similar to Chinese lap cheong wind-dried sausage too.

I opted to have the lamb curry with fried bread rather than rice. Although the curry sauce was thin, it packed in enough flavour thanks to what I’m pretty sure was star anise, bay leaf and cardamom. This moreish sauce went well with the earthy, very tender chunks of lamb. The best chunks were those served on the bone – not only was there a bit of connective tissue, there was the additional joy of sucking out the seductive little wink of bone marrow. Although heavy, the bread wasn’t too oily and retained a reasonably high degree of fluffiness and absorbency for sauce mopping duties.

Currying favour.

The loud, drunken third-rate disco at the grubby pub a few doors down is kicking off again.

The cool, lumpy yoghurt is available either plain or sweetened. Although the plain variant was boringly neutral at best (the best Greek yoghurt makers won’t be losing any sleep), it’s a good balm in the unlikely event you find anything a little too spicy for your palate. It’s best not to to bother with the chilled supermarket fruit though.

This review’s procrastination was brought to you, in part, by Game of Thrones.

Taking the Fifth

Channa chat combined puffed rice and bombay mix in a surprisingly complimentary if jaw-straining combination. Think of it as extra crunchy rice krispies served with fresh, zingy herbs and tomato.

No chatting in the back.

The Amazon’s bhatmas set was similarly taxing on the jaw, but ultimately less pleasing. The teeth-grindingly crunchy yet also nutty soya beans were served with umami tomatoes and a bright, sharp, citrusy, almost lemongrass-like, spice dressing. We ultimately skirted the soya beans in favour of the dressed tomatoes.

My jaw needs resetting.

Both the Amazon and I ended up plumping for lamb dishes in the end, but they were quite different from each other. Although lamb thentuk used cheap bits of lamb offal, these coarse and chewy chunks were nonetheless enjoyable and helped liven up the generically moreish soup. The real star here was the noodles which resembled won ton skins in their thickness and torn square shape.

Torn.

The Amazon’s lamb stew neatly paired sinewy, earthy chunks of meat with a sharp, bright and umami soup. Oddly, the kitchen felt that the tender potato chunks and surprisingly supple and pleasing vermicelli didn’t provide enough roughage, but I’m hardly complaining if that means a helping of soft and chewy tigmo bread.

The fuzzy line between stews and noodle soups.

I just used the word ‘roughage’. My terrifying transmogrification into my parents has begun.

We shared a dessert of gulab jamun. Although bready, the dough balls were also light and airy. Served warm, they were lightly sweetened with honey. Although not overpoweringly rich, the refreshing yoghurt was nonetheless welcome – especially with its lumpy texture and milkiness. It was much improved compared to last time.

Lumpiness doesn’t have to be a bad thing.

The Verdict

The food at Kailash Momo was very much a mixed bag. Some dishes were far better then they have any right to be, from the lamb curry to the pork chura and pickled potatoes. The headlining momos were disappointing though and, at the risk of inviting patriotic ire, were little different from a Chinese dumpling. Still, you can eat very cheaply at Kailash Momo and the food, even when it’s a dud, was almost always warming and very filling. Kailash Momo struggles to soar, but most high streets would rightly kill for a restaurant that’s this distinctive yet so cheap. Given the mind numbing alternatives, I can’t help but like this Tibetan restaurant – warts and all.

What to order: Pork chura; Offal; Pickled potato; Lamb curry; Lamb thentuk; Lamb stew; Yoghurt desserts

What to skip: Thukpa noodle soups

Name: Kailash Momo

Address: 79 Woolwich New Road, London SE18 6ED

Phone: 0203 489 8901, 0746 897 5848

Web: http://www.kailashmomo.com

Opening Hours: seven days a week 11.00-23.00.

Reservations: yeah if you want

Average cost for one person including soft drinks: £15 approx. (£25 if you push the boat out) 

Rating: ★★★☆☆

Skip the Westfield White City Wahaca.

I have an inherent distrust of excessively showy-looking restaurants – anything too flashy is usually covering for deficiencies in the kitchen. That doesn’t have to be the case as Habanera shows. The rear half of the dining room at this Mexican restaurant in Shepherd’s Bush borders on the cheesy – faux creeping vines cover the rear wall, while semi-kitsch murals depict the iconic Virgin of Guadalupe and, rather oddly, the Mona Lisa dressed up as a mariachi musician.

That reminds me – time to trim my bushes.

The menu is mercifully brief consisting, with few exceptions, mostly of tacos. Those taco fillings can be embiggened into burrito form.

‘Let’s go to a Mexican restaurant in Shepherd’s Bush for a drink!’ said no one, ever.

On the tiles.

Weekend lunch at Habanera

Habanera’s horchata was milky with a subtle rice-derived sweetness that was perhaps a little too subtle for its own good. There was a hefty dusting of distinctly flavoured cinnamon which didn’t detract from this drink’s cool refreshing nature.

Milk of the poppy.

Although the tacos were made out of corn flour, the ones at this first meal were a little stiff, muted in taste and overstuffed too. Small bits of lean, anonymous beef passing for steak were cooked well-done and mildly dense. They were highly dependent on the mildly zingy sauce for flavour.

The colours of the Mexican flag in a taco. Coincidence? Maybe.

Mushroom filled tacos were more pleasing. Taut, slippery and lightly earthy mushrooms had a mild herbal zing.

I’d prefer corn fungus, but I’ll take what I can get.

Weekend dinner at Hanbanera

Habanera only has a truncated menu available at lunch, so it’s worth going for dinner instead to get the widest choice of taco fillings. The quality of the maize flour tacos was unchanged, but the fillings showed modest improvement. Meaty, glossy cubes of raw tuna had a spiced umami glaze that turned out to be tamarind – an unexpected revelation.

Sing me a song of a tuna that is gone.

Firm, woody and reasonably moist chunks of pork shoulder were complimented well by a lightly spicy sauce and tart pickled onions.

Pork barrel.

There was a return to previous form with the baja fish tacos. Although the batter was too stodgy and crunchy for my liking, the glossy cod underneath was flaky and delicate. It was highly dependent on the one-dimensional chipotle mayo for flavour though.

This review’s procrastination was brought to you, in part, by observing drunken football louts at my local pub.

The horchata was more chocolatey sweet and somehow thicker this time around. While still refreshingly cool, it was moving away from being a classic horchata and into Nesquik territory.

Making your own horchata is a surprisingly involved process.

The technical excellence of Habanera’s churros couldn’t be faulted. Its crisp exterior wasn’t too oily and was dusted with demera sugar. It was delightfully soft and fluffy on the inside, but the accompanying chocolate dipping sauce was perfunctory at best. The quality churros were best appreciated without it.

Why do drunken football louts like to sing, even when their voices have the sonorous quality of a discombobulated fart?

Weekday dinner at Habanera

The tortillas at my final Habanera meal were a little thicker than before and not as stiff, but were still muted. This didn’t detract from the higher standard of fillings this time around though. Dense and lightly earthy goat was neatly offset by sharp, boozy cherries. An unusual but nonetheless successful pairing.

Vote goat.

Squash had a measured buttery sweetness that meshed well with earthy feta. Habanera’s kitchen clearly has a knack for the more offbeat fillings.

Squash the opposition.

The least successful of this taco trio, but still better than many of the others from previous meals, was the prawn filling. The prawns were drowned out by the salsa, but its fruity, citrusy, aromatic heat was so tingly and pleasing that I was willing to overlook this flaw.

A mere prawn in a game of life and death.

The horchata this time around was pretty much identical to the chocolatey version from my previous meal. A dessert of caramelised plantains was generally a success. The firm, starchy and lightly sweet slices show that plantains aren’t just misguided rogue bananas. They were doused in a relative heavy caramel sauce. The kitchen attempted to counterbalance its relative richness with salted caramel ice cream, but this only worked due to its cool creaminess and not its muted salty-sweetness. Once again, one of Habanera’s desserts verged on greatness only to be let down by so-so accompaniments.

If I could get away with filling the Flame Haired Squelchie’s feeding bottles with horchata, I would.

Brownana.

Making good salted caramel ice cream is a tricky business.

The Verdict

Habanera’s tacos and desserts need more finesse. Nevertheless, even in their current state, the Mexican food here makes a refreshing change from the otherwise Levantine-majority restaurants of the local area and it’s generally better than the only other local alternative that I’m aware of – the Westfield-branch of the increasingly so-so Wahaca. Habanera isn’t quite good enough to set your world alight, but you could do a lot, lot worse.

What to order: Goat tacos; Squash tacos; Churros

What to skip: Steak tacos

Name: Habanera

Address: 280 Uxbridge Road, Shepherd’s Bush, London W12 7JA

Phone: 0208 001 4887

Web: http://www.habanera.co.uk/

Opening Hours: Monday-Thursday noon-23.00; Friday noon-midnight; Saturday 09.00-midnight and Sunday 09.00-22.30.

Reservations: yeah if you want

Average cost for one person including soft drinks: £35 approx. 

Rating: ★★★☆☆

No matter how much we try to deny it, we all love sequels. You might tell your friends how much you enjoyed that quirky Spanish art house film that no one has ever heard of, while secretly sneaking out to see the latest Marvel blockbuster. I can feel a similar sort of vibe in London’s restaurants. Besides all the usual chains, even plucky independents are sprouting sister restaurants and spin-offs – Bao, Berber and Q and even Rök, among others, have or are expanding beyond their original incarnations.

The Palomar, the West End’s Jewish-ish restaurant of the moment, has opened a second site in The Seven Dials’ Neal’s Yard. While The Barbary’s menu is similarly eclectic, taking in influences from across North Africa and the Mediterranean Near East, it’s a much smaller venue that doesn’t take reservations. There are just 24 covers arrayed around a counter overlooking the small galley-like kitchen. If you can mount and unmount the stools without looking like a haemorrhoidal John Wayne, then you have more consummate grace than I ever will. Although the view over the small brigade-style operation is endlessly entertaining, the stools can be uncomfortable – especially if you have a voluminous Kardashian-style backside as I do. It’s all worth putting up with though.

First things first

It’s very easy to over order at The Barbary if you have a ravenous appetite. You shouldn’t skip the naan though – thinner and crisper than the South Asian incarnation we’re all familiar with, it had a surprisingly bitter, sourdough-esque quality to it that was nonetheless pleasing. The sharp and umami tomatoes served at room temperature are a good topping for the naan – it somewhat resembles a renegade ratatouille that’s done a runner before the courgettes and aubergines could jump in. The garlicky harissa-esque Yemeni zhug, in both green and red pepper dominated varieties, wasn’t spicy hot enough for my liking though.

The kitchen mini-brigade was overseen, at least initially, by The Palomar honcho Assaf Granit.

Suitably named, Granit had an austere, severe and very focussed look about him – he wouldn’t look out of place as a Game of Thrones character.

But he appears quite avuncular when he wants to be.

Two separate sets of fellow diners to either side of me decided to skip the octopus, either out of eye-rolling squeamishness or a sigh-inducing lack of faith in the skills of the kitchen and the provenance of the produce. Don’t follow the example of those fools – the firm, smoke-licked tentacles were enjoyable in their own right, but even better when taken with the nutty tahini and the buttery, nutty, parsley-flecked chickpeas. The latter were especially good and deserve headline status alongside the octopus – cooked just so, they verged on mushiness but stepped back settling into snug tenderness. You simply must have this dish.

If you’re squeamish about octopus, of all things, then the food of the rest of the world will be an almighty shock to you.

Firm, milky chunks of monkfish had a lightly crisp exterior and were served in an oddly incongruous XO-style sauce. It wasn’t spicy or punchy enough to warrant the inclusion of the refreshing labneh, but I’ll take it anyway. The firm and supple cabbage leaves were well-executed, but added little to the already mixed proceedings. Think of it as one of your five a day.

All of the seats at The Barbary are at a bar. Unintentional wordplay, perhaps?

Disappointingly, the duck hearts had none of the offaly charm and yieldingly crisp texture I was expecting. More like cheap and cheerful sausage slices, they weren’t bad but ultimately had little to recommend them.

It just hasn’t got its heart in it.

It would be a severe mistake to avoid The Barbary’s vegetable-only dishes. Chunky cauliflower florets were lightly creamy and bitter, both flavours neatly complimented by the sharp and umami tomato relish.

The atmosphere, despite an excess of tittering cocktail sippers, was warm, buzzy and convivial.

The fleshy, creamy and smoky aubergine was even better, its visceral nature neatly offset by the odd but ultimately complimentary companions of lightly bitter herbs, sharply sweet raspberries and nutty tahini. Eggplant rarely tastes this good.

Dammit, my hotpants don’t fit anymore.

Hot summer nights demand ice cream. Although the light sesame flavour of The Barbary’s halva ice cream only became noticeable late in the game as I mowed my way through the creamy, smooth and refreshingly cool globes, this was still a crowd pleaser and rightly so.

Someone squirted over my icy globes.

Going back for seconds

The Barbary’s Jerusalem bagel may be covered in sesame seeds, but it’s otherwise a far cry from the chewy, stodgy fairground staple most of us are familiar with. It was chewy on the outside and soft and fluffy on the inside, but the accompanying za’tar, either for sprinkling or dipping, was a muted and unworthy accompaniment.

Time to train my beagle to finagle a big ladle of bagels.

It’s best to order some smoky, creamy baba ghanoush to go with the bagel. Although not quite as velvety smooth and boldly consistent in strength of flavour as the very best baba ghanoush, it was still very pleasing. Even better was the ridiculously moreish combo of creamy, nutty chickpeas, cooked just so, and sharp, umami, parsley-flecked tomatoes. Some might moan about the fact that it’s served at room temperature. Don’t be one of them.

Anything could happen.

I, for one, am in favour of world peas.

Much has been written about Galician sirloin, but I found myself oddly unmoved by The Barbary’s version of this beef cut. Dense and mildly chewy, it wasn’t as tender or as rich as I was expecting. It was left to the accompaniments to save the day – not the taut and supple leek, but the remarkably bittersweet and lightly spiced relish. Its layered sophistication was by far the most memorable thing on this plate.

Don’t have a cow.

Dense and beef-like pata negra pork neck was similarly competently executed but ultimately forgettable. More worth of praise was the moreish yet fruity reduction and the tenderised garlic cloves. Initially subtle, gently rising into butteriness and then a punchy heat, it was a real multilayered treat that livened up an otherwise so-so dish.

Definitely not kosher.

Sticking my neck out.

If all that garlic sounds a bit too rich, then you can cool off with the kohlrabi salad. Julienned pieces had a sharp and lightly sweet apple-like quality that was made even better by a sharp sumac dressing, crunchy almond slices, peppery rocket, firm peas and a thin, lightly creamy dressing that wasn’t too cloying. If only all salads were this good.

Came across a Daily Mail article complaining about foreign terms on restaurant menus while Googling. Almost clicked through, but I don’t hate myself that much.

Provocatively named, the hashtart wasn’t as addictive as its name or its overenthusiastic description by my waitress would have you believe. A pistachio-flecked treacle tart-style filling paired with a buttery shortbread-esque crust still made for a dense, nutty and gently sweet dessert of understated accomplishment.

Hashtart hashtag.

Meaty threesome

Firm and crisp pickled cabbage, celery, carrots and cauliflower tinted with turmeric, both in colour and taste, were a fine nibbling distraction. Save room for the beetroot salad though. Although lacking in earthiness, the cool, yieldingly crisp chunks were still very enjoyable. Enhanced by crisp spring onions, crunchy nuts and a glug of soothing yogurt, it’s a salad that’s both refreshingly cool and moreish.

Here’s a pickle – what’s worse? Knee jerk, unthinking racists? Or systematic, ideological racists? Honestly can’t tell. Clearly time for a Twitter break.

Takes some beeting.

Swordfish steak cooked rare had a seared exterior and a tender, glossy pink interior. The clean after taste provided a platform for the sweet and umami tomatoes, punchy capers and the milky tzatziki-style yogurt to show off. Compared to its more distinctive stablemates, this swordfish dish feels like it could’ve been served up in a dozen other London restaurants. It was nevertheless pleasingly executed.

The question of whether swordfish is kosher or not is surprisingly convoluted.

Apologies for initially cutting against the grain.

Lamb cutlets had a crisp crust and a tender interior. Both the cutlets and the minty tzatziki-style yogurt were overshadowed by the unexpectedly floral fragrance of the roasted, wilted greens that I couldn’t quite identify. It wasn’t a patch on the superb lamb chops available at Gunpowder, but it’s still worth ordering – purely for the herby smell alone.

Throw me a bone.

Mary had a little lamb. Then she slaughtered it for chops.

I didn’t have high hopes for the chicken msachen, but it turned out to be one of The Barbary’s best meat dishes. Moist, meaty and tender chunks of chicken were topped with a crisp and sumac dusted layer of skin. It would only have been half a dish without the sumac-dusted yogurt and the sweet sharpness of the caramelised onions though.

Life would be a lot duller without yogurt and tahini.

If you only have one dessert at The Barbary, then make sure it’s the knafeh. This pastry’s crisp crust of fine noodle threads had a subtle taste of pistachio and gave way to reveal a gooey cheesy centre. Apparently a mix of mozzarella and goat’s cheese, the creamy and subtly moreish mixture was reminiscent of Oaxacan cheese. Crisp, chewy and cheesy – if that doesn’t make for a homely and warming dessert, then I’m not sure what does.

It’s kind of like a cheese doughnut. If that helps you.

Go Fourth and multiply

Firm spears of asparagus, cooked just so, were dressed in a black tahini. Although visually distinctive, this twilight hued tahini was less pleasing in the mouth with a nuttiness that was more muted than usual.

I’ve been criticised in the past for using the humorous phrase ‘if that helps you’ because it’s seen as patronising. My response is always: ‘sod off’. That’s a colloquialism for ‘go away, you humourless pedant’, by the way.

Although a skewer of prawns didn’t manage to retain the crustacean’s distinctive taste, it was still pleasing thanks to an initial smoky hit and a firm bite. A sweet caponata-style bed of vegetables and a squirt of yogurt made for a fine, well-rounded dish.

Deskewered.

The chunks of meat in the goat goulash weren’t especially earthy, but they were tender. The stew itself was considerably less spiced, with the exception of a small standalone jalapeno, than the Viennese renditions that I’m most familiar with. Instead, a bed of torn bread pieces provided some supple starch while a filling-free filo parcel sat up top. The partially deconstructed nature of this goulash was odd and it’s hardly an exemplar of the genre, but it’s satisfying enough when taken on its own terms.

Tickle my goat.

I expected the seemingly out of place tuna tataki to be a car crash of Wabi-esque proportions, but it turned out to be surprisingly memorable for almost all the right reasons. The delicate and tender slices of tuna, seared blue, were meaty fine, but it was the accompanying sauce that stole the show here. Sticky and syrup-like, yet also blessed with spicy, sweet and umami hints. It shouldn’t have worked, but it did to an extraordinary degree. I licked up every last drop.

Not your shogun’s tataki.

The knafeh was just as good as it was before.

There are far too many ways of spelling knafeh.

The Verdict

There’s no question that eating at The Barbary is a more cramped and less comfortable experience compared to The Palomar. But constraints and less-than-ideal circumstances can spur inventiveness and force a restaurant to focus on the things that really matter. Reservations aren’t taken, but the service was uniformly warm, friendly and efficient. Quarters were cramped, but this bred neighbourliness rather than resentment. Most of the duff dishes from The Palomar, from trend-chasing raw dishes to silly trowel and slate presentations, have been jettisoned with a tighter focus on dishes that more closely resemble their Maghrebi, Levantine et al antecedents.

But there are still rough edges. The red meat dishes are, for the most part, merely okay – to the point that The Barbary is one of those rare central London restaurants where vegetarians and pescetarians can eat better than salad-dodging carnivores. And then there’s the cost. Unless you stick to tapas-style grazing and bar-hopping, I found it tricky to eat for less then £55 a head while still walking away satiated. Despite all this, I found myself charmed by The Barbary. Although I prevaricated and procrastinated for days over the final star rating, and almost considered breaking my rule against half-stars, in the end this is a reliably good Four Star restaurant. I don’t regret eating at The Barbary, not one bit, and I’m willing to bet that you won’t either.

What to order: Naan; Bagel; Tomatoes; Octopus; Aubergine; Halva ice cream; Knafeh; Chickpeas and tomatoes; Beetroot salad; Chicken msachen; Tuna tataki; Cauliflower

What to avoid: Duck hearts

Name: The Barbary

Address: 16 Neal’s Yard, Covent Garden, London WC2H 9DP

Phone: none listed

Web: http://thebarbary.co.uk/

Opening Hours: Tuesday-Sunday 17.00-22.00. Closed Monday. Lunch service coming soon.

Reservations: not taken

Average cost for one person including soft drinks: £55-65 approx. (£75 approx. if you push the boat out) 

Rating: ★★★★☆

Fire and blood link Old Street and Liverpool Street

London’s ‘ethnic’ restaurants tend to be clustered together in specific neighbourhoods due to quirks of history and rent. The Korean restaurants of New Malden, the Sri Lankan eateries of Tooting and the little Vietnam that is Kingsland Road are just a few examples. Cuisines that have arrived in London more recently have tended to be less geographically concentrated for whatever reason (the chaos of the capital’s property market may have something do with it). There is thus no obvious centre for Sichuanese food (at least none that I have know of), with restaurants serving the cuisine popping up all over the place. The imaginatively named The Sichuan is located roughly equidistant between Old Street and Liverpool Street stations, smack bang in the weird hinterland between Shoreditch and the Square Mile.

What The Sichuan lacks in nominative originality and glossy decor, it more than makes up for in service. Inexpensive Chinese restaurants have a reputation for brusque service thanks to Chinatown, but the generally polite yet still efficient service here shows that this doesn’t have to be the case. The waitress across both of my visits (a middle aged lady with a slight limp) deserves particular credit for her warmth and charm.

Weekend dinner at The Sichuan

Sichuanese food is usually associated with odd cuts of meat and the numbing heat of the famed Sichuan pepper, so it’d be easy to overlook the ‘hand torn’ aubergine. Although served chilled, it was nonetheless easy to appreciate the buttery fleshiness of the straight edged slices of eggplant served in a bright and sharp vinegary sauce. Uncommonly lovely.

Take my hand.

Red braised pork is a Sichuanese classic and the version here has much to recommend it. Tender and umami cubes of swine flesh were pleasing – especially the ones with soft, jelly-like layers of belly fat still attached. The pork was umami enough as it was, but the sticky sauce added an extra dose for good measure. A few choice chilli peppers counteracted the combined umami double whammy, preventing it from becoming too overwhelming. Cloves of fresh garlic mixed in were odd, but did add some variety. The chopped onions and bell peppers were superfluous though.

Hongshao rou.

The dan dan noodles were surprisingly unremarkable with so-so noodles doused in a tame sauce. There was little in the way of numbing heat, mince or preserved vegetables, all of which made for an unsatisfactory side dish.

Dan! Dan! Dan! Dan!

Weekday dinner at The Sichuan

As is common with many Chinese restaurants, most of the dishes at The Sichuan are big and thus designed to shared amongst a group. I therefore rounded up Veal Smasher, Happy Buddha, Templeton Peck and Vicious Alabaster for my second and final meal at The Sichuan.

The oddly named ‘man and wife’ offal slices made up for the tame dan dan noodles from my first meal. Wafer thin slices of tripe, tongue and other cheap cuts of beef were dressed in a sharp, sour and gently numbing sauce. If you love offal and sourness as much as I do, then this dish will be right up your street. If you don’t, then I don’t think we can be friends anymore.

I now pronounce you cow and gate.

Moist and mildly nutty chicken, finely sliced, came in a sharp and sour yet moreish and surprisingly refreshing sauce. All chicken should taste this good. Wrinkly bits of ear-shaped fungus were similarly sharp and sour and just as worthy of devouring.

Called ‘chicken with special home sauce’ on the menu. I don’t want anything ‘home made’ in a restaurant – I want it professionally made!

Getting an earful.

Dry fried pork and beef paired a rather generic porcine mince with a much more pleasing helping of beef tendons. Squidgy and gelatinous, it was neatly complimented by the tart and numbing sauce even if it wasn’t quite as numbing as I had hoped for.

I have a soft spot for beef tendons.

The main attraction that everyone was looking forward to was the grilled fish. The star here wasn’t the fish itself – meaty but ultimately a bit too stodgy. It was instead the cumulative numbing effect of the sauce and your choice of up to three extra ingredients cooked with and served mixed in with the fish. The highlights of Vicious Alabaster’s chosen trio were the bready tofu and, surprisingly, the supple and unexpectedly thick sweet potato vermicelli. The latter really hit the spot, especially as the meagre helping of enoki mushrooms disappointed all of us. The sauce could’ve been a bit more potent in its numbing effect, but it was still strong enough to be tingle-inducing.

It tends to sell out early on or around the weekends.

Mao cai.

There are only two desserts at The Sichuan, although they’re more like petit fours and they’re very Chinese, so they won’t suit pudding dullards whose palates barely extended beyond chocolate. Small sweet potato ‘cakes’ were more like deep-fried dumplings. The soft and yielding exterior was free from excess oil, while the gently sweet and fluffy filling might well be good enough to sway otherwise dedicated anti sweet potato fanatics.

Alright sweet cakes.

The Euro Hedgie probably wouldn’t approve.

Mochi-like balls were served in sugar syrup for reasons apparent to no one. The thin, gelatinous skin was delicate and slightly chewy – a textural combination that will put off some. It’s worth putting with though, given the bold distinctive nuttiness of the black sesame filling.

Sticky balls.

Look, if this was served in a Western haute cuisine restaurant on a tasting menu at twice the price, you’d lap it up. Context is everything.

The Verdict

Although the strength of The Sichuan’s sichuan pepper-based sauces didn’t reach the debilitating sweat-inducing levels of numbness that I usually prefer, that’s not necessarily a bad thing. This allows your mouth enough sensation to savour some of the more nuanced dishes on the menu from the aubergine to the chicken. There were a handful of duff dishes, most notably the limp dan dan noodles, but even that doesn’t detract from The Sichuan’s laudable ability to deliver generally accomplished dishes at low prices in a part of town where such a combination is anything but a given.

What to order: Hand torn aubergine; Red braised pork; Grilled fish; Offal; Chicken in special home made sauce; Fungus; Dry fried beef tendon

What to skip: Dan dan noodles

Name: The Sichan

Address: 14 City Road, London EC1Y 2AA

Phone: 020 7588 5489

Web: http://www.thesichuan.co.uk/

Opening Hours: seven days a week noon-23.00. 

Reservations: highly recommended on and around weekends; essential for large groups

Average cost for one person including soft drinks: £26 approx.

Rating: ★★★★☆

Simple doesn’t automatically mean good

Visiting other countries and trying out cuisines in their place of origin is great, but it also presents a problem. It makes you realise just how badly many cuisines are represented here in the UK. Mexican food is one of the most badly affected victims, with Tex-Mex giving the entire genre a bad name. Tex-Mex not only bears little relation to the original, but also tastes dire. Things have been looking up in the capital with the arrival of the sublime Santo Remedio, but elsewhere improvement comes in fits and starts. Casa Morita, nestled away in the Brixton Village covered market, is a case in point.

The bulk of the relatively short menu at Casa Morita consists of tacos, which can be embiggened into burritos, and sandwiches called tortas. The latter are rarely seen over here, but were a common sight on the streets of southern Mexico – during my recent trip there, there were as many torta stands as there were taco stands.

The buns used in all of the tortas I had in Mexico were very flat, neutral-tasting affairs which made it all the easier to appreciate the simple yet flavoursome fillings. Casa Morita’s ‘super’ torta didn’t quite get it right. The bun was far too fluffy, but at least it didn’t obscure the filling. Moist chicken was paired with moderately crisp and crumbly Yucatan-style sausage bits along with nutty beans and a reasonably moreish sauce. There was far too much lettuce and other needless filler though, further detracting from the overall experience.

The mild-mannered Torta Kent.

Super Torta. A strange visitor from another, alternate Mexico.

Casa Morita’s tacos were at an immediate disadvantage due to their bland tortillas. They were also a little too stiff, having been left on the warming plate for a bit too long. Moist chicken shreds came in a mole negro sauce that had a reasonable, but not exceptional depth of character – a nutty spice combined with a tangy moreishness.

The Quatermass Experiment

Tacos filled with chipotle chicken only had a modest version of the smoke and spice that the smoked jalapeno is known for. The effect was further lessened by the needless pile of lettuce and sour cream.

I’ve got a chipotle on my shoulder about needless toppings and accompaniments.

Pork can a gloriously visceral meat in the right hands, but those hands aren’t at Casa Morita. Although the shreds of swine flesh in the cochinita pibil tacos had modest levels of fruitiness and smokey moreishness, they were also far too soft.

Dinosaur tacos, that’s the way forward.

Surprisingly, my dessert turned out to be the star of the evening. The moist and fudgey chocolate cake was steeped in a dark cocoa richness. A hint of crisp spice in the dusty topping was a bit tame, but was still pleasurable and also didn’t prevent the chocolate from shining through.

Let them eat cake.

The Verdict

If there’s one overriding theme at this small Mexican restaurant, then it’s one of tameness, resignation and acquiescence. A sense of a cuisine sanitised for those unwilling or unable to demand better. Casa Morita isn’t bad – indeed, you could do far worse. But now that London finally has an insight into the hidden depths and complexities of Mexican food, Casa Morita is decidedly second best – a fallback restaurant when you can’t get in somewhere else better, a spot for a late night feed or for Brixtonites who don’t want to travel further afield.

Name: Casa Morita

Address: : 9 Market Row, Brixton, London SW9 8LB

Phone: 020 8127 5170

Web: http://www.casamorita.com/

Opening Hours: Tuesday-Friday noon-23.30; Saturday 10.00-23.30 and Sunday 10.00-22.00. Last orders one hour before closing.

Reservations: not taken

Average cost for one person including soft drinks: £25-35 approx. 

Rating: ★★★☆☆

Wahaca’s fast food spin-off takes on Benito’s Hat and Tortilla

When tasked with formulating a legal standard for the offence of obscenity, American judge Potter Stewart came up with the immortal phrase ‘I know it when I see it’. The phrase came to mind the first time I walked through the door of DF / Mexico. Perhaps it was the crisp in-store graphics and menus, the highly polished decor or the over-excitable mission statement. DF / Mexico feels like the template for a middle-class chain restaurant, the sort you could easily imagine slotting in next to a Leon or a Busaba in a Westfield shopping centre.

There. Are. Four. Lights!

DF / Mexico, with one branch in the Truman Brewery and the one reviewed here on Tottenham Court Road, is a spin-off of Wahaca but one that feels as if it’s been designed by management consultants with flipcharts, focus groups and a thumping big book of market research and business jargon.

Oddly, a receptionist has to assign you a table before you order and pay at the till. The food is brought to your table in short order. Drinks are bottomless and you help yourself from fast food-style fountain dispensers. Wahaca’s increasingly sprawling menu is pared back to just a few favourites – tacos, burritos, tortas as well as fillings from those dishes slapped onto a sharing board. I guess it’s supposed to feel fun, fast and fresh. Perhaps it does to someone less world-weary and sceptical, but to me it smells of ‘concepts’, targeted demographics and retail consultants.

Can’t bear to tear your eyes and hands away from a touchscreen, even when ordering food? Then come here!

The devil inside.

First things first

My raised eye-brows were not appeased by the weak and watery horchata. The tortillas used in the pork tacos were even less impressive. Far too big, they were also too thin and thus prone to breakage. The seeping bits of pork were too soft and bland, while a morass of lettuce, duff radishes and tame pickled onions snuffed out whatever life had once resided in the mildly nutty beans.

Coloured water.

This review’s procrastination was brought to you, in part, by Alaska’s live bearcam.

Where are you, little piggy?

The steak tacos were just as misconceived in their messiness, unwieldy size and unnecessary toppings. The steak strips themselves weren’t too bad, if you could discern them amidst everything else – neatly charred, but also a little too chewy.

DF / Mexico gets its name from a slang term for Mexico City.

Similarly, Chilango get its name from a slang term of the denizens of Mexico City.

Unpleasantly icy soft serve ice cream only had an intermittent flavour of passion fruit, but that was a reprieve given how sickly sweet it was. The promised caramelised coconut was roasted, far too crunchy hard and did little to rescue this woeful dessert. A 99 Flake would’ve been better.

Passionless.

Going back for seconds

The deep-fried nuggets nestled in the cod tacos were allegedly panko-breaded cod. I say allegedly, as the cod was barely discernible and the stodgy breaded coating had none of the light, crisp airiness of panko. Limp red onions and mayo dribbled everywhere as the poor quality tortillas from my first visit made an unwelcome return.

May cod have mercy on your soul.

Normally, I’d be greatly annoyed at encountering a brioche bun as lifeless as the one that enveloped the chicken torta sandwich. Its lack of butteriness was actually welcome here though, given that the overwhelming majority of tortas I tried in Mexico used equally neutral tasting bread to allowing the fillings to take centre stage. I can thus overlook the inconspicuous fluffiness of the bread, but not the dull-tasting, barely seasoned chicken which was at least firm and reasonably moist.

The slightly odd seating and payment arrangements does remind me of Wimpy. Which is probably not when management was aiming for.

Threedom

Surprisingly, the horchata showed signs of improvement. While still far from good, it wasn’t quite as watery as before and had a touch of sweetness to it too.

Still watered down.

Another surprise was the chicken burrito. Subtly different from the one at sister restaurant Wahaca, the compact yet filling and surprisingly spill-resistant burrito didn’t have an excess amount of rice filler. The same chicken from the torta made a repeat appearance, leaving it to the crisp vegetables and the lightly smoky and meaty beans to alleviate my boredom.

Doorstop.

A mildly exotic rice sandwich.

Crunchy, nutty and sweet corn kernels were also punishingly hard on my teeth. Best avoided.

Hard as nails.

For some reason, I decided to risk another dessert. I was rewarded with a reasonably soft brownie, but it was also bland and a bit too dry.

Should’ve worn my brown pants.

The Verdict

If DF / Mexico is the future face of Mexican food on the British high street, then I fear for the continuing reputation of Mexican cuisine in Britain. There are very modest flickering signs of potential improvement, but when the most laudable things about a restaurant are the glossy decor and the speed in which food arrives at the table then something has gone badly wrong.

What to order: Possibly the chicken burrito

What to skip: Everything else

Name: DF / Mexico

Branch tried: 28-29 Tottenham Court Road, London W1T 1BL

Phone: 020 3829 2389

Web: http://www.dfmexico.co.uk/

Opening Hours: Monday-Saturday 11.30-23.00 and Sunday 11.30-22.00.

Reservations: not really necessary

Average cost for one person including soft drinks but excluding tip: £15-25 approx.

Rating: ★★☆☆☆

The king is dead; long live the king

Fitzrovia has always had more than its fair share of restaurants given the relatively small size of this neighbourhood, hemmed in by Bloomsbury, Soho and Marylebone. Even so, the area has bloomed in recent years with some top notch restaurants opening in Fitzrovia from the revamped Newman Arms to Piquet and, of course, the famed Dabbous. Even the merely satisfactory restaurants are often better than many of the the overhyped eateries in other parts of the capital.

It’s therefore no surprise that Bao has opened its second permanent location on the site of the former Boopshi’s. Although Bao could’ve simply left Boopshi’s fine wooden fittings in place, they’ve completely gutted and revamped the place, so that it fits into the Muji-esque aesthetic of their original Soho restaurant.

As with the Soho restaurant, reservations aren’t taken so arrive early or be prepared to queue. Top lunchtime queuing tip (which will probably be ruined by its mention here): get here at around 13.00/13.30 – the eager beaver midday crowd will be finishing up and the lily-livered faint of heart non-queuers will have drifted away. Seats are arranged around a bar on the ground floor and around the kitchen in the basement, although the latter seating area wasn’t fully open at the time of writing.

First things first

While there are, of course, plenty of Taiwanese buns on the menu at Bao, it would be exceedingly foolish of you to ignore the rest of the menu. The lip-smacking consomme-like chicken broth was almost transcendent. It was made even better by accompaniments served on the side – a delicately earthy mushroom and an unctuously honky bit of chicken skin. The best accompaniment had to be the unassuming medallion of chicken though – moist, milky and then creamy, it was seductively soft and meshed with the broth to an immensely satisfying effect.

It’ll cure what ails you.

Yin and yang.

Firm slices of octopus tentacle were served in a sweet and umami soy sauce, possibly laced with a bit of shaoxing wine, which really hit the spot.

Duck hearts were tender rather than crisply yielding and weren’t quite as punchy. They were still nonetheless pleasing as vessels for carrying tangy preserved vegetables and the sharp, tingly and cumulatively spicy sauce into my mouth.

Sorry folks, I forgot to take a photo of the octopus. My heart breaks.

You can meet some surprisingly interesting people in the queue at Bao. Or at least I did.

Don’t order the pickled cabbage if you’re expecting kimchi – the taut, slippery and light sour and tart cabbage slices were instead closer to the pickled vegetable batons sometimes served at old school Cantonese restaurants. The bowlful here was nonetheless pleasing.

Tickled cabbage.

The beef short rib rice is the work of a genius. Although I usually prefer my short grain rice to be softer and fluffier, the firmer rice here did serve as a neat contrast to the tender slices of beef. Despite being almost wafer thin, the cow flesh was dense and intensely beefy with a pleasingly rich rind of connective tissue still attached. A quivering, indecently sumptuous cube of beef fat provided a short yet intense hit of unctuousness. Like an Oxo cube wearing a strap-on, this well-crafted dish was intensely pleasurable and won’t soon be forgotten.

**looks over last sentence** Hmmm, I may have oversold it slightly. But only slightly.

While not very pillowy, the soft bao buns were still pleasing as they allowed the dense yet tenderly porky strands of the Classic Pork Bao to stand out. A hint of umami and a malty crumb topping were deft, highly complimentary finishing touches.

Taking names and giving lessons.

This will seem like heresy to many, but I’ve never been impressed by battered cod. Stodgy, dull and lifeless, it usually has all the appeal of a Harvester buffet. Bao’s cod black bao shows that this doesn’t have to be the case. Crisp, light and oil-free batter contained an equally light and delicately flaky hunk of cod. A creamy sauce had a vague tartar-like quality to it that suited the battered cod well. Spot-on.

The word of cod.

Bao does a fine line in non-alcoholic drinks which is welcome news for non-sozzled individuals such as myself. The milk foam tea from the Soho Bao makes a welcome appearance. A lightly tannic brew topped with a gently creamy foam, its crispness and clarity was immensely refreshing despite the small portion size.

Foaming at the mouth.

Going back for seconds

Sweetcorn doesn’t sound terribly exciting, but if you’re still doubting Bao’s kitchen then you clearly haven’t been paying attention. Moderately-sized kernels, cooked just so, were sweet and lightly buttery. The tingly, tangy, umami moreishness of the XO-style sauce was very addictive. I only wish it was just a wee bit spicier and that the kitchen had been more generous with it.

Sweet.

It should come as no surprise that the crispy prawn heads were delicious despite the absence of the main body – the gunky head innards are often the most visceral, best tasting parts of the crustacean. Here, the heads were crisp without shattering into mouth-piercing shards, while retaining both umaminess and an evocative sense of the sea. Both aspects were emphasised by the gently creamy sauce, producing a combination that was highly effective in both texture and taste.

Full steam aheads.

The raw langoustines, on the other hand, weren’t quite as successful and something of an unbalanced oddity. Firm yet quivering, the langoustines resembled the amaebi prawns often used in sushi and sashimi. Their natural sweet lightness was overwhelmed by the sweetness and umaminess of the soy sauce though. The taste of the soy sauce, combined with the firmness of the langoustines, made this dish oddly reminiscent of prawn cheung fun, especially as the oyster leaf was neither here nor there.

A loud raw.

I didn’t expect to find tomatoes on Bao’s menu, as the fruit isn’t common in traditional Taiwanese and wider Chinese cooking. Then again, Bao is hardly a slave to tradition. The small tomato chunks here ranged from umami to sweet and tangy, with the latter in particular emphasised by the dusting of plum powder.

Plum powder, somewhat similar in taste to Japanese umeboshi, is very much an acquired taste perhaps explaining its judicious application here.

Mapo aubergine was a perfectly enjoyable dish, as long as you don’t expect it to be similar to a classic Sichuanese mapo tofu. Strips and chunks of aubergine ranged from buttery and soft to smoky and fleshy. Served on a bed of al dente soft grain rice, the aubergine was doused in a sauce that was more tingly, tangy and moreish instead of the typical spicy and numbing heat of a traditional mapo tofu. It makes sense really – a powerfully numbing Sichuan pepper sauce would’ve stolen the limelight away from the expertly prepared eggplant.

Eggplant Wizard.

The bao were just as soft as they were before, as well as more voluminously pillowy this time around. Fatty, tender and unctuous pork belly hit the spot, with crisp shallots provided textural contrast. The tangy, moreish sauce wasn’t spicy ‘hot’ as advertised, but it still neatly cut through the fattiness of the confit belly pork.

I am confit-dent that you’ll like this place.

The only vegetarian bao on Bao’s menu has a slab of sweet and starchy daikon coated in a crisp, airy, light and oil-free panko batter. It was delightful just as it was, with no need for a repeat appearance of the same ‘hot’ sauce that came with the confit pork bao.

You look radish-ing tonight, darling.

Bao’s coldbrewed tea was unsurprisingly similar to the cold brew tea I sampled in Taiwan’s Hualien County. Crisp and clear with a gentle honey-like sweetness, it was remarkably refreshing.

Taiwan is a hot and humid country. It should therefore come as no surprise that the Taiwanese have a highly effective range of cool and refreshing drinks.

Bao’s chocolate and toasted rice milkshake was by no means bad, but it wasn’t anywhere as sensuous as my waitress would have me believe. Tasting much like a malted chocolate milkshake, it was thick and refreshing without being viscous, heavy and cloying.

Nesquik.

Meaty threesome

Bao’s menu can adapt and change in subtle ways. The sanbei octopus, while similar to the way it was before with firm octopus tentacle slices, was nonetheless noticeably different as well. The sauce was spicier this time around and was also dotted with sweet, tender peppers. This tweaked version worked well, but I still prefer the earlier version overall for its simplicity.

Sucker punch.

The fried chicken ‘chop’ was essentially Bao’s take on Korean-style fried chicken. It wasn’t the crispest fried chicken I’ve ever had (that honour is still held by The Clove Club’s non-Korean version), but it still had a pleasing crunch that surpassed lesser versions elsewhere. Even better was the milky meat underneath all the batter and the tingly, tangy gochuang-esque sauce which had an extra level of viscosity and richness from the egg yolk.

What came first, the fried chicken or the egg yolk?

You don’t get chicken nuggets at Bao, but beef tendon and cheek nuggets instead. The lightly crisp and yielding crumb exterior was matched by the unctuously moist strands of connective tissue and chunks of beef inside. If you need yet another lesson in not overlooking cheap cuts of beef, then this is one right here.

Time to beef up my cheeks.

The soft pillowy bun of the lamb gua bao was just as good as ever, but it was eclipsed by the unctuous, earthy and fatty chunks of lamb dressed in a tingly, piquant sauce. Lamb only occasionally appears in the Chinese food over here; we’re clearly missing out based on this dish.

On the lamb.

The mapo aubergine rice was just as good as it was before, if not better – the short grain rice was noticeably softer and fluffier this time around. The optional addition of an egg yolk added a subtle extra richness as well as a noticeably velvety and unctuous mouth feel. Just be careful when pouring/spooning the egg yolk over the buttery aubergine – the latter isn’t especially absorbent so you could end up with egg on your face.

Egg and eggplant meet at last.

It would be easy to overlook the grilled lettuce, but you shouldn’t. The taut and supple leaves were dressed with what looked like crispy shallots, but were actually punchy bits of fried confit garlic. The crispiness and powerful warmth of the confit garlic might be cheating, but who cares when it’s this good.

Let-tuce give thanks for this bounty.

The cold brew tea was just as good as ever.

Golden power.

The condensed milk milkshake successfully captured the intense creamy sweetness of condensed milk, but without its viscosity. It was somewhat reminiscent of Hawksmoor’s seminal cornflake milkshake – just as lip-smacking and more refreshing too.

A condensed milk milk shake – is that a tautology?

The Verdict

The Fitzrovia branch of Bao is unsurprisingly excellent. The kitchen could’ve just sat on its laurels and served up a replica of the original Soho menu, but it has instead pushed the state of the art forwards. The gua bao themselves remain the benchmark by which all others are judged, but arguably it’s the other dishes that are the stars here. From the chicken broth and the octopus to the beef short rib rice and the beef nuggets, not forgetting the superlative ice cold teas, Bao Fitzrovia is a leading light in London for modern Chinese dining.

The capital’s more table-clothed, glitzier-looking Chinese restaurants may have the edge in comfort when compared to Bao’s stools, but Bao comes close to upstaging them at every turn when it comes to the actual food. The question isn’t whether you should eat at Bao, it’s how often you should come back.

What to order: Everything

What to avoid: I honestly can’t think of anything

Name: Bao (Fitzrovia/Tottenham Court Road branch)

Address: 31 Windmill Street, Fitzrovia, London W1T 2JN

Phone: none listed

Web: http://baolondon.com

Opening Hours: Monday – Saturday noon-15.00 and 17.30-22.00. Closed Sunday.

Reservations: not taken.

Average cost for one person including soft drinks and service charge: £35-45 approx.

Rating: ★★★★★

Superlative barbecue hidden behind Guy’s Hospital

There are many injustices in London’s restaurant scene (I’m still hurting after the closure of Rex and Mariano), but few things annoy me more than unworthy barbecue restaurants. The likes of Porky’s, Bodean’s and Red Dog Saloon have been opening up new branches across the city, despite serving up food that ranges from dreary to mediocre (although they could be worse – a lot worse). There is some justice in this world though – Texas Joe’s, Dragon’s Den veteran and purveyor of beef jerky, has finally settled down in a restaurant a short walk from London Bridge station behind the Guy’s Hospital complex.

I’ve covered Texas Joe’s before, in its short-lived street food incarnation before it moved indoors at various residencies. Although some readers wrote in to complain about the uneven quality of the barbecue at the Texas Joe’s residencies, my meals there were always spot-on. I’m happy to report that the new Texas Joe’s is even better than it was before.

Beef at the new Texas Joe’s

Brisket has always been the signature dish at Texas Joe’s and for good reason. Even with the recent boom in London’s barbecue restaurants, high-quality smoked brisket remains in short supply in the capital. Like London’s other superlative barbecue restaurant, Texas Joe’s hasn’t sat on its laurels – its brisket is even better than it was before. Moist and tender, it was on the verge falling apart as it rested on my fork due to the expertly rendered muscle and fat. It didn’t rely on mouthfeel alone to win me over – a woody bark and a small strip of succulent fat tinged with smoke added extra depths. A second serving a week later was just as good. This. This alone sets the standard for smoked brisket in London.

Comes with sliced white bread instead of Texas toast? Boo. Nothing’s perfect I guess.

One of my visits coincided with the press dinner. I wonder how many of the subsequent reviews declared their freebie.

The same high quality brisket turns up in the brisket tacos, but it’s hard to appreciate the beef here amongst the coleslaw, pickles and creamy cheese. Texas Joe’s other tacos are, for the most part, surprisingly good. Apart from this one.

A rare misstep.

If there’s one thing more remarkable than the gelatinous, quiveringly soft and utterly slurp-able nature of Texas Joe’s bone marrow, it’s the sheer quantity that you get. Compared to the equivalent dish at, say, St John, it’s a noticeably more generous helping.

Jiggly-puff.

The beef short rib came close to toppling the brisket from the top of my affections. Exceptionally beefy hunks of tender meat-on-the-bone were lightly sticky thanks to expertly rendered fat and connective tissue. It was topped with woody, gently chewy bark. Technically accomplished and sensually excellent, it’s one of the best versions of a smoked beef short rib that I’ve seen on this side of the Atlantic.

App idea: Tinder/Grindr, but only for people who love proper barbecue.

Jacob’s sadder at all the awful/mediocre beef ribs out there. Come to Texas Joe’s instead.

Pork at Texas Joe’s, London Bridge

Beef gets all the glory and attention in Texas-style barbecue, but Texas Joe’s pork dishes shouldn’t be ignored. The meat on the spare ribs was tender and loose enough that there was no need for a knife. It slid off the bone with such seductive ease, that it should’ve been cited for public indecency. The supple bark was subtly woody and moreish, while the exceptionally tender rib meat was slick with rendered fat – the occasional seam and chunk of extant fat added more unctuous joy. It was a truly spectacular display of the smoky arts.

Spare a thought for the people who’ve never had barbecue as good as this.

Pork. The other white meat.

Pork tacos were filled with firm, lightly seasoned chunks of shoulder meat. Although only modestly porky and slightly dry, the coleslaw and pickles made up for the relative lack of moisture while the creamy cheese bits were surprisingly complimentary to the pork. The tortillas were made out of wheat flour rather than corn, but their bigger size was necessary for the volume of contents and – I can’t really believe I’m writing this – the nuttiness of the corn flour wasn’t really missed here.

Neatly sidestepping the cliche that pulled pork has become thanks to shit pubs and Tesco.

Pork belly is rarely seen on the menus of London’s American barbecue restaurants. When it does appear, it’s often an embarrassing mess. Texas Joe’s pork belly is a stinging rebuke to such ineptitude. The sumptuous amount of fat was viscerally salty and richly full-bodied in its unctuousness, but there was also a meaty helping of tender, honkingly well-lived white meat as well as taut, chewy and glossy crackling-like skin. I love it. No, that’s not right. I lust after it.

Belly rubs.

Mutton at Texas Joe’s, Guy’s Hospital

I’ve never seen mutton on any barbecue menu in London before. While served at some barbecue places in Kentucky and allegedly a little known part of Texas cue, its presence here in taco form feels more like a tip of the stetson to Ye Olde England. Dense and meaty chunks of mutton shoulder weren’t quite as earthily funky as I expected, thereby increasing its resemblance to lamb. Even so, it was enjoyable on its own terms and meshed surprisingly well with the coleslaw, pickles and cheese that rounded out the fillings of these tacos.

Lunch or a starter? Or both?

Someone has to shoulder the burden.

If you’re vacuous enough to be easily impressed by the size of ribs, regardless of their actual quality, then you’ll be dim enough to overlook or be disappointed in the mutton ribs. Although the layer of meat and fat on the bone was thin, it was viscerally earthy, streaked with gelatinous, unctuous fat and supple, subtly sweet bark. Spot on.

One of the rare occasions where I wish I could change the autofocus point after the picture has been taken.

The Verdict 

Texas Joe’s Smoked Meat is an oddly located restaurant, situated on a leafy, mostly residential street that’s seven minutes and a million miles away from the shiny glass of the Shard and the hubbub of London Bridge and Bermondsey. For this reason alone, it may never achieve the popularity and synonymic ubiquity of Bodean’s. But it should. It sits in the top-flight of London’s barbecue restaurants alongside the new Pitt Cue, Shotgun and Hot Box, yet, at the same time, its Texan focus and skill means it’s also in a class of its own. I love it. If you don’t, then we really can’t be friends anymore.

What to order: Brisket; Beef short rib; Pork ribs; Pork shoulder; Mutton ribs

What to avoid: Brisket tacos

Name: Texas Joe’s Smoked Meats

Address: 8-9 Snowsfields, London SE1 3SU

Phone: none listed

Web: http://texas-joes.com/restaurant

Opening Hours: seven days a week 11.00-23.00.

Reservations: not taken.

Average cost for one person including soft drinks and service charge: £30-35 approx.

Rating: ★★★★★

All gelato is ice cream, but not all ice cream is gelato

It’s easy to joke about the cold and wet English summer, but those jokes will be a fond, distant memory when London is inevitably roasting in 30 degree heat and humidity, turning your glistening sweat into your own personal basting sauce. One of the few things that makes me feel better in such sweltering conditions is a cup of cool, flavoursome Italian-style gelato.

‘Gelato’ is the Italian word for ice cream, but the term alone doesn’t quite convey just how magical the very best examples of this treat can be. Compared to other ice creams, put simply, gelato is made with less cream and has less air introduced into the mixture due to a slower churning process. It’s also stored and served at a higher temperature.

The result is an ice cream that not only has a noticeably bolder and more consistent flavouring, but a mouthfeel that’s wonderfully, consistently smooth, dense and creamy. This is often, but not always, exemplified by a pronounced elasticity – start spooning away a chunk and a noticeable tearing trail can be seen. Unlike cheap and nasty ice creams elsewhere, gelato should be so smooth that there are no discernible ice crystals – any sort of icy crunch should be entirely absent.

Until fairly recently, good quality gelato had been hard to find in London. Even with recent strides in the capital’s gelato quality, my dining companion the Euro Hedgie is adamant that the best that London has to offer isn’t a patch on what’s available in, say, Rome. Armed with the criteria above, I therefore set out to sample the gelato from every standalone gelateria in London (i.e. not restaurants that happen to have a flavour or two as a dessert course) that I could find.

As this group test brought me closer than ever to the edge of apocalyptic tooth decay and diabetes, I limited myself to just three flavours from each gelateria – three that should be the touchstones of any good gelato maker:

• Pistachio – a Sicilian favourite and it’s surprisingly difficult to capture the pithy essence of it in frozen form. On the very odd occasion where this storied favourite wasn’t available, I opted for another nut-based gelato.
• Wild card – boldly creative flavours, and how well they’re implemented, are a hallmark of any good gelateria. Gelato is, after all, a product of modernity. I chose the most eye-catching and unusual flavour I could find at each gelateria.
• Lemon sorbet – yes, this water and fruit-based treat isn’t a gelato, but sorbets are classic stablemates to a gelato and simply can’t be overlooked when attempting to find London’s best gelateria. Where lemon wasn’t available, I opted for another fruit sorbet – usually mandarin or mango. Sorbets may have a higher water content than a gelato, but that’s absolutely no excuse for any crunchy ice crystals. A lemon sorbet should either deftly balance the sweetness and tart sourness of the fruit, or it can go almost full throttle on the tartness as long as it stops just short of mouth pursing sharpness. Blandness is not an option, neither is a comedically sour impersonation of Cif.

Other gelato fanatics will probably howl at my exclusion of baccio, stracciatella, hazelnut, chocolate and other flavours. They have a point, but I don’t love any of those flavours as I love pistachio and if a gelato purveyor can’t ably handle the three above then the chances of them adeptly managing any of the others is slim.

Obviously, no one apart from me is mad enough to trapse across town just for a gelato. But this group test should aide you in deciding whether to indulge in that seemingly tempting gelati in front of you or whether you should save your calories and money for something else instead. Like a trusty Cornetto (my cheap, guilty pleasure of choice even if it’s nowhere near as good as a high-quality gelato).

Almost all of the three-scoop, three-flavour gelato cups here were priced, on average, between £4.50 and £5.50 with only Morelli’s in Covent Garden breaching ahead and hitting the eye-watering £7 mark.

One more thing before we get on with the reviews themselves. I don’t claim to be infallible and I do welcome polite and constructive feedback in the Comments. But I have very little time for weirdo commenters who insist that I’m wrong because I don’t like everything or because I don’t like their particular favourite eatery. I also have little tolerance for obtuse narrow-minded commenters who spout obscenities at me in the name of defending ‘tradition’. I have even less time for groundless accusations of bias with nothing to back it up. So please keep the comments civil and constructive. I don’t want to ban anyone, but I can and I will if need be.

Now that the formalities and the unpleasantries are out of the way, on with the reviews!

Table of Contents

3Bis
Amorino
Bella del Gelato
Brumus
Cafe Russell / Cafe in the Gardens
Caffe Paradiso
DiSotto
Dri Dri
Foubert’s
Gelateria Danieli
Gelato Mio
Gelatorino
Gelo Bar
Gelupo
Ice and Slice
Il Gelato di Ariela
Joe Delucci’s
La Gelateria
Lick
Mantovani 1946
Marine Ices
Morelli’s
Nardulli’s
Nonna’s Gelato
Oddono’s
Olivogelo
Scoop
Sensations
Slice and More
Snowflake
Sprinkles
Unico
Venchi
Vero Gelato
Wafflemeister

The Winners

3Bis

Sitting on the edge of Borough Market, 3Bis might be an oddly named gelateria but its position gives it a solid trade and plenty of lasting power having been in business for years.

Although the pistachio gelato was only mildly nutty, its touch of pithiness, its consistency and smooth elasticity just about nudged its way into my affections. The peanut butter was similarly excellent in texture, but mild in nuttiness. Its lack of tangy viscosity, however, meant it tasted more like a bacci or hazelnut.

pistachio gelato at 3Bis

peanut butter gelato at 3Bis

There were no complaints about the lemon sorbet though. It was baby smooth, without any hint of clumpiness or iciness. It also maintained a gentle balance between sweetness and mouth pursing tanginess.

lemon sorbet at 3Bis

3Bis’ comparatively early closing times rule it out for those of us with late night cravings, but it’s a good bet if you’re lunching at the street food stalls inside Borough Market and need to satiate your sweet tooth. It’s not quite good enough to score Four Stars, but it’s a close run thing.

Star rating: ★★★☆☆

Amorino (Islington branch)

This multinational chain has branches dotted around Zone 1. The small Soho branch is the most crowded, prompting me to seek out the more sparsely customed Islington outpost. Although neither of the gelatos I tried were especially elastic or creamy, they were at least evenly smooth.

pistachio gelato and lemon sorbet at Amorino Islington

Neither impressed when it came to the strength and consistency of flavour though. The pistachio was not only muted, but also oddly artificial. The wild card speculoos was mildly malty and tinged with ginger, dimly recalling the original Belgian biscuit rather than the boldly evoking it. Most disappointing of all was the lemon sorbet which had only a one-note tartness and no hint of sweetness.

speculoos gelato at Amorino Islington

Amorino might pull in the tourist and late night reveller crowds, but I was singularly unimpressed by its dim, faded wares.

Star rating: ★★☆☆☆

Bella del Gelato (Golders Green branch)

This narrow little gelato shop in Golders Green only has a handful of tables, unless you want to lick and slurp on the go. My server was charmingly lovely, but that couldn’t make up for the disappointing texture of the ice cream. Both gelato weren’t elastic enough and were just far too clumpy – the latter flaw applied to the sorbet as well.

Disappointingly, the pistachio was off so I had settle for the chestnut flavour instead. The modest nuttiness trended towards coconut if not for the slightly malty finish at the end which gave it a very modest resemblance to chestnut. At least the modest flavour didn’t dip in intensity at any point.

The Blue Moon wild card was only modestly evocative of the intended bubble gum with a mild yet still reasonably distinctive sweetness paired with a slight tangy edge. Things picked up with the lemon sorbet which was profoundly tart and citrusy, making up for its clumpiness.

Blue Moon gelato and lemon sorbet at Bella del Gelato, Golders Green

Bella del Gelato has managed to get away with middle of the road gelato given the lack of local competition. Even so, it’s just about worth popping on a hot summer’s day if you happen to find yourself in this northwestern stretch of London.

Star rating: ★★★☆☆

Brumus

This Haymarket hotel restaurant sometimes operates a standalone gelato stand facing out onto the street. The gelati I tried were neither elastic nor smooth enough. The texture was further blighted by surprisingly large air gaps as well as occasional but nonetheless annoyingly crunchy ice crystals.

clotted cream gelato at Brumus

Despite these problems, the clotted cream managed to be reasonably pleasing thanks to a measure of extra creaminess. The raspberry ripple was almost as creamy, but its vanishingly low levels of sweetness and tanginess were underwhelming. While reasonably smooth and ice-free, the weak mango sorbet was mango in name only.

raspberry ripple gelato and mango sorbet at Brumus

Brumus needs to go back to the drawing board before wheeling out its gelato cart again.

Star rating: ★★☆☆☆

Caffe Paradiso

This reasonably polished Italian cafe doesn’t have the charming kitsch quality of some of London’s other Italian cafes and delis, but it does have a gelato counter. Although the pistachio gelato was mildly smooth and elastic, its nuttiness was not only faded, but inconsistent in strength. The clumpy, chunky lemon sorbet was little better, descending into kitchen cleaner levels of excessive sharpness and acidity.

The zuppe inglese wild card failed in terms of mouth feel – one too many ice crystals, along with a general lack of denseness and elasticity, were displeasing. Moderately creamy, boozy and dotted with what appeared to be candied fruit pieces, it was an odd approximation of a zuppa inglese. While not terrible, I wouldn’t rush back to have it again.

gelato at Caffe Paradiso

Caffe Paradiso is more like Dante’s Inferno, at least when it come to gelato.

Star rating: ★★☆☆☆

Cafe Russell/Cafe in the Gardens

Depending on which sign you believe, this cafe nestled near the edges of Russell Square (with a separate gelato takeaway counter) is named either Cafe Russell or the Cafe in the Gardens. Although its leafy location alone pulls in the punters, don’t order the gelato unless your life depends on it. The modest sourness of the lemon sorbet was disappointing; its excessive icy crunchiness was inexcusable.

Although very elastic, the pistachio gelato was also surprisingly clumpy. Its modest nuttiness faded quickly, leaving little to remember it by. The cherry gelato, which is about as experimental as this cafe gets, started out with a high degree of elasticity, but this was ruined by crunchy iciness then lumpiness. Alongside this dismal texture was a sickly sweetness that wasn’t at all true to the fruit.

gelato at Cafe Russell/Cafe in the Gardens

Much of the gelato and sorbet I ordered from Cafe Russell/Cafe in the Gardens ended up in the bin. That says it all.

Star rating: ★☆☆☆☆

DiSotto

DiSotto is a catering supplier/food service company that sells a whole host of Italian foodstuffs to restaurants and cafes, not just gelato. Its own-brand gelato can be found at eateries across the city from Phillies cafe in Greenwich to a snack stall at the corner of Oxford Street and Wells Street. A wonky debit card and no sorbet choices meant I had to be content with just two scoops of gelato, although content is the wrong word.

Initially elastic, both gelato somehow managed to be both far too crunchy as well as airy with significant air gaps ruining the texture. The pistachio’s already modest nuttiness faded quickly, while the wild card blue bubblegum had a sickly saccharin sweetness. At least it was consistent in strength, lingering in my mouth and wearing out its welcome.

DiSotto gelato

DiSotto gelato – just say no, more like.

Star rating: ★☆☆☆☆

Dri Dri

If there’s one thing odder that Dri Dri’s name, then it’s the location of this gelato shop inside what is effectively a garden centre/miniature business park on a side street in Chelsea.

Like Bella del Gelato, Dri Dri was out of pistachio forcing me onto the chestnut instead. Unlike Bella del Gelato, Dri Dri’s chestnut was distinctly and pleasingly nutty. There was still room for improvement though as the chestnut flavour could’ve been stronger and it tended to fade over the course of the scoop. Just as worrying was the occasional icy patch and lack of elasticity and denseness.

The same textural problems afflicted the salted caramel which suffered from an even weaker flavour that, by the end, was just plain bland. Far stronger was the lemon sorbet – almost to a fault. The bold citrusy tartness just managed to stay on the right side of Jif-ness.

gelato at Dri Dri

Dri Dri isn’t too bad, but it really needs to try harder. Much harder.

Star rating: ★★★☆☆

Foubert’s

A longtime Chiswick institution, this odd café-hotel combo also has a gelato counter and you can enjoy your ice cream at the café boothes decorated with faux fresco panels.

The Blue Banana wild card had a mild tang that was oddly evocative of both banana and bubble gum. Although only mild, the tang did at least persist rather than fade over time. It was also pleasingly elastic and smooth, which is more than can be said for the oddly clumpy and chunky pistachio. It did at least have a moderately strong nuttiness that also stayed the course.

I have no complaints about the lemon sorbet though. It was not only very smooth without any hint of iciness or excessively uncomfortable coldness, but it also maintained an excellent balance between a sour tang on one hand and a light sugary sweetness on the other. Few lemon sorbets are better than Foubert’s.

gelato at Foubert’s

Foubert’s odd little inconsistencies are worrying, but there’s still plenty to enjoy here making it a must visit if you’re passing through or visiting Chiswick.

Star rating: ★★★★☆

Gelateria Danieli

Gelateria Danieli has an impressive empire if you believe its website, but its vaunted Shaftesbury Avenue branch has long since closed and I’m somewhat (but not completely) certain that one of its Kingston branches has closed as well.

It is just about worth joining the queues at its definitely open pair of branches in southwest London though. The branch near Kingston green rustled up a buttery smooth and dense pistachio gelato, its sumptuous mouthfeel almost making up for its understated nuttiness.

The honeycomb wild card had a similar mouth feel to the pistachio, but the few scabs of honeycomb had precious little in the way of sweet viscousness or crunch. Of all the honeycomb ice creams I’ve had in London, this is one of the least impressive – gelato or otherwise.

A few clumps interrupted the smoothness of the lemon sorbet, but the texture was generally smooth sailing. Sadly though, the tart citrusy hit dissipated quickly.

gelato at Gelateria Danieli

The slick mouthfeel of Gelateria Danieli’s confections isn’t matched by the flavours. Still, you could do far, far worse.

Star rating: ★★★☆☆

Gelato Mio

Although a little way off Notting Hill’s main drag, this branch of Gelato Mio is still more than easily accessible to pull in tourists and locals alike.

Gelato Mio’s main wares were decidedly middle of the road. Both gelato were reasonably smooth and elastic, but not especially so. The pistachio was lacking in intensity, but it was still distinctly nutty and it didn’t fade over time.

The wild card peanut butter combined moderate sweetness and salty nuttiness. Although it did a passable job of capturing the essence of the source material, the flavour faded a little too quickly for my liking. At least the lemon sorbet was a winner in the strength stakes – powerfully tart and sour, balanced out by a touch of sweetness. The sorbet was a tad too clumpy though.

gelato at Gelato Mio

There’s the basis for some good churned treats at Gelato Mio, but for now it’s merely okay rather than anything truly outstanding.

Star rating: ★★★☆☆

Gelatorino

Gelatorino is the best of Covent Garden’s unsurprisingly numerous gelateria, but that’s more of a half-hearted recommendation that an unbridled enthusiastic cheer. Although smoother and more elastic than an Olympic gymnast, the initial nutty hit of the pistachio faded disappointingly quickly.

The fig ripple wild card was similarly superb in mouth feel, but its transient gritty syrupy sweetness just wasn’t good enough. Once again in this group test, and not for the last time, it was the lemon sorbet to the rescue. Although a bit clumpy here and there, it was generally smooth. A generally balanced hit of sweetness and sour tanginess was hewing a little closer to the latter, but it was still a very well-made lemon sorbet overall.

gelato at Gelatorino

Gelatorino isn’t bad, but, like a recalcitrant teenager, it needs to try harder and apply itself more consistently.

Star rating: ★★★☆☆

Gelo Bar (formerly Bella Gelato)

Located deep within the bowels of Bayswater’s underground bowling and ice rink complex, Gelo Bar has the glossy dead-eyed feel of a franchised chain but seems to be an independent concession, or at least a standalone creation of the complex owners, as far as I can tell.

Gelo Bar’s concoctions have all the appetising appeal of a refrigerated tube of food colouring. It’s honestly hard to tell what’s more dispiriting about the pistachio – its utter blandness, its icy crunch or its hilarious mint green colour.

Then there’s the ‘Kinda Bueno’ wild card which was dominated by the occasional crunch of cheap chocolate and livened up only by faint hints of hazelnut. Although not as icy as the pistachio, it was still too crystalline for my liking. I’m not sure if the Yoplait-esque strawberry was a gelato or a sorbet – the droopy dude behind the counter didn’t know and it was so icy that it really doesn’t count as either. Even so, its artificial flavour will only appeal to indiscriminate six-year olds.

gelato at Gelo Bar

If you find yourself bowling or ice skating in Bayswater, don’t buy Gelo Bar’s gelato. If someone one buys it for you, bin it. Best thing for it.

Star rating: ★☆☆☆☆

Gelupo (Archer Street branch)

Gelupo is a spin-off of highly regarded Italian restaurant Bocca di Lupo. There are two branches within close proximity of each other in Soho – one directly opposite Bocca di Lupo itself and another within the same premises as Vico, Bocca’s sister restaurant.

Although the Vico branch is larger, I actually prefer the smaller original as the staff there tend to be far friendlier. Both of the Gelupo gelato I tried had superb elasticity and were exceptionally creamy and smooth, coming very close to the Roman standard.

Disappointingly though, the pistachio was only moderately nutty which is a let down as I’ve had pistachio gelato from Gelupo before that adeptly captured the pith and crunch of the nut. The wild card caramel and liquorice was also similarly underwhelming with a muted caramelishness and only a mildly bitter hint of liquorice. The blood orange sorbet was a winner though – bracingly cool without any icy crunchiness, fortified with the distinctively sweet tang of blood orange.

gelato at Gelupo Archer Street

Gelupo’s unevenness was unsettling, but it still edges into Four Star territory thanks to the top-notch mouthfeel of its gelato and its exceedingly well-crafted fruit sorbet.

Star rating: ★★★★☆

Ice and Slice

As its name suggests, Ice and Slice serves the quintessential Italian classics of gelato and Roman-style pizza. This conceit, combined with its Fulham location, makes it a hot spot for flirting couples prettier and younger than I am.

I don’t want to get too involved in the pizzas as this is a gelato round-up, but their Romanesque pizzas aren’t as good as the Eternal City’s best. The focaccia-like crusts were far too thick and stodgy. The nduja had little of the promised spicy sausage, which meant this pizza ended up resembling a stodgily unappetising margarita due to its subpar mozzarella and tomatoes. The speck and courgette was dominated by woody, salty but not especially fatty speck. This would normally be fine, but the stodgy base spoiled it for me.

speck and courgette pizza at Ice and Slice

nduja pizza at Ice and Slice

Despite the uninspiring levels of elasticity, Ice and Slice’s gelato still managed to have some respectable levels of smoothness. Flavours were lacking though – the pistachio was only mildly nutty at best, while the salted caramel tasted mostly of caramel. And not especially good caramel at that.

The lemon sorbet was similarly drab. Although smooth, it was neither sweet enough nor tart enough.

gelato at Ice and Slice

There’s a reason Ice and Slice seems to be patronised almost exclusively by couples – anyone who isn’t tasting someone else’s tonsils has gone somewhere better instead.

Star rating: ★★☆☆☆

Il Gelato di Ariela

Il Gelato di Ariela seems to supply a handful of restaurants and cafes, but it does make occasional appearances as a stand at markets such as the South Bank street food market. I could only try two flavours instead of three – due to my lack of change (stupid malfunctioning debit card) and the limited choice on offer (this is a street food stall after all).

The Eton Mess was reasonably smooth, but not exceptionally so, and lacked both denseness and elasticity. Moderately crunchy meringue bits made up for the very weak fruitiness. If only Il Gelato di Ariela had stocked pistachio, then I might have avoided this disappointing wild card.

Mango sorbet was mango in name only, while occasional crunchy spots of ice ruined the otherwise reasonable level of smoothness.

Il Gelato di Ariela

Disappointing.

Star rating: ★★☆☆☆

Joe Delucci’s (Westfield White City)

I was quite surprised to stumble upon a Joe Delucci’s kiosk near the western entrance of the consumerist cathedral that is the Shepherd’s Bush Westfield. I’ve had several tubs of Joe Delucci’s supermarket-stocked take-home gelato, all of which turned out to be surprisingly decent.

I therefore had high hopes for the Westfield concession, all of which were summarily dashed. Both gelato were surprisingly lumpy with no elasticity, actually making them worse than the supermarket versions.

The pistachio’s mild nuttiness faded quickly, while the lumpy and clodden mango sorbet was far too sharp and bruising. It wasn’t quite as harshly tangy as the very worst cheap and nasty mango sorbets, but it was still a parody of the fruit.

I somehow doubt that the Oreo wild card is an officially licensed spin-off. It did have a very mild taste of the oddly artificial, but nonetheless enjoyable and distinctive sweet crumb of the original biscuit. It’s still not as evocative of the source material as the officially licensed Oreo ice creams though and is, overall, a poor gelato too.

gelato at Joe Delucci Westfield White City

It takes a special kind of industrial incompetence to produce two different kinds of mass produced gelato, one of which is markedly worse than others. If they gave out Raspberry awards for mass dessert production, then Joe Delucci’s would scoop every award going.

Star rating: ★☆☆☆☆

La Gelateria

This compact and originally named gelateria is almost always busy in even modestly warm weather given both its close proximity to Covent Garden and Trafalgar Square, and also due to the surprisingly early closing times of much of its Covent Garden competition.

A wild card gelato of basil and chilli did manage to have the sweet herbiness of the former, but no chilli heat whatsoever that I could detect. The taste of basil faded quickly too. The texture also needed work – it was ever so slightly elastic with its modest smoothness interrupted by the occasional stray ice crystal. These weren’t big enough or populous enough to be a real problem, but were still annoying enough to undermine my already fractured enjoyment of this gelato.

The pistachio variant wasn’t especially elastic or dense either, but did nonetheless have a reasonable degree of smoothness. Its nuttiness was drearily generic though and not consistently strong in intensity either.

Oddly, the mango sorbet had more elasticity than either of the gelato. Its sweet buttery creamy fruitiness was initially very rich, but didn’t quite maintain its evocative strength over the course of the scoop.

gelato at La Gelateria

La Gelateria’s confections are surprisingly hard to judge. While not actively awful or completely without merit, its wares were flawed enough that I find its overwhelming popularity to be somewhat unjustifiable. Okay but not dire – a Three Star ‘if you must’ gelato option it is.

Star rating: ★★★☆☆

Lick

If I gave stars purely for minimalist, evocative names then Lick would romp home with top marks. While the portions at this Soho gelato and coffee place are generously large, the texture of the two gelato I tried weren’t nearly elastic or smooth enough. Indeed, both were surprisingly watery which just is indefensibly bad.

Surprisingly, pistachio wasn’t available on the night of my visit so I had to opt for the hazelnut instead. It mild flavour faded relatively quick. The wild card matcha green tea flavour was only marginally more satisfactory. It had a moderately strong and consistent flavour of matcha, but this distinctive flavour was also accompanied by the bitter oily tang common to many shoddily-made matcha-based and derived desserts.

Lemon sorbet wasn’t available, so I had to settle for the mango variant instead. The rich sweetness of mango was modestly strong, but only somewhat true to the fruit. It wandered into parody territory at time, verging on sickly sweetness. Its lumpy texture was unimpressive too.

gelato at Lick

Lick is generous with its portions and stays open late everyday of the week, but these advantages can’t outweigh the remarkably poor quality of its gelato and sorbet. Gelupo is the better Soho gelato bet.

Star rating: ★★☆☆☆

Mantovani 1946

Mantovani 1946 is a franchised chain with branches predominately located in Italy, but with a handful of overseas outposts in Panama (!) and on Tottenham Court Road. The plain frontage is almost too minimalist and classily subdued, making it easy to miss.

Although clumpy and not elastic enough, Mantovani’s pistachio gelato still had an even and supple level of smoothness. This went well with the consistently strong nutty flavour.

The trifle-esque wild card Zuppa Inglese was less the custard and sponge trifle it was supposed to be like and more akin to a rum and raisin. Creamy with a hint of booze and some small fruity sweet raisin bits, this combination of flavours went well with the smooth, if occasionally clumpy texture.

After the bold flavours of the gelato, the disappointing zestiness of the lemon sorbet was absent to the point of non-existence. Still, at least this smooth white sphere was crunchy crystal blemish-free.

gelato at Mantovani 1946

Although Mantovani’s gelato and sorbet are a little uneven in places, they’re still well-crafted and enjoyable enough to make this gelateria worth visiting. Hopefully, it’s a place that will improve over time.

Star rating: ★★★☆☆

Marine Ices

Marine Ices is a Camden institution, having been in business for decades, yet it’s surprisingly attractive on the inside eschewing the bohemian grot that tends to characterise the rest of the neighbourhood. The stereotypical Italianate vistas on the walls might not be real frescoes, but they’re still charming.

The pistachio gelato had a bold nuttiness, but it faded relatively quickly. Although its mouth feel wasn’t exceptional, it did have a reasonably elastic and creamy consistency.

Oddly, the wild card honey and ginger had a very different texture and not for the better. It was far too icy, verging on crunchiness. It was dominated by candied ginger that gave this confection a modest hit of spice. The only presence of honey was from a very subtle undertone hinting at sweet viscosity.

Even worse was the blood orange sorbet which tasted of nothing and had a coarse texture of packed ice. If I wanted a Slushie, I would’ve got one from a newsagent at a fraction of Marine Ice’s prices.

gelato at Marine Ices

Marine Ices is a prime example of a venerable institution that’s been sitting on its laurels. It might once have had good gelato and sorbet, but it certainly doesn’t now.

Star rating: ★★☆☆☆

Morelli’s

Morelli’s gelato has to be very good indeed to justify both its high prices (£7 for three scoops!) and the aggravatingly touristy location of its Covent Garden branch. Although only mildly elastic, its pair of gelato were still surprisingly dense imparting a fair degree of smoothness.

Unfortunately, the moderate nuttiness of the pistachio faded very quickly despite the presence of actual pistachio pieces. The chocolate, chestnut and rose water wild card tasted little of chestnut, was cursed by uninterestingly dull chocolate and thus tasted mostly of rose water. It’s as if they tried to get the licence for Cadbury’s Turkish Delight, failed, yet decided to press ahead inadvisedly anyway.

Most lemon sorbets err on the side of too much tanginess. Morelli’s lemon sorbet goes the opposite way – it was a tad too sweet. At least it was smooth and not at all icy.

gelato at Morelli’s

Such middling gelato and sorbet might be acceptable as a last resort at normal prices, but Morelli’s inflated pricing relegates it to the bush leagues.

Star rating: ★★☆☆☆

Nardulli’s

My favourite things about this Clapham gelateria are two entirely superficial but nonetheless charming details. Firstly, the fact that the management had the good sense to stop selling frozen yoghurt and to remove the corresponding lettering from the main sign (even if their outlines are still visible). There’s nothing wrong with frozen yoghurt, but there’s no need for it in any good, self-respecting gelateria. Secondly, the wonderfully tall man at the till with his high-pitched, sing-song voice. Never leave, strange camp voice man, never leave.

Although Nardulli’s pistachio gelato was only moderately strong in its nuttiness, at least this flavour never faded. I couldn’t fault the superb smoothness, elasticity and dense thickness though. In either case, it was far better than the lemon sorbet which was a bit too clumpy and only modestly tart.

The fig wild card wasn’t as exemplary as the pistachio when it came to texture, managing only a modest level of smoothness and elasticity. It did manage to capture the essence of the fruit, largely by including actual extant fleshy bits of the coarse, treacly sweet fig in the gelato itself. It’s cheating, but I can live with it.

gelato at Nardulli’s

Nardulli’s is far from bad, but it can do better. Until it does, leave this gelateria to the local yummy mummies and their infuriating strollers unless you happen to find yourself in Clapham.

Star rating: ★★★☆☆

Nonna’s Gelato

This nomadic street food stand only ever has a handful of flavours available due to the limitations enforced by its itinerant nature. They’re also only available in a cone, which ruffled my cup-only sensibilities. Although the cone and huge scoops inevitably led to a lot of mess, I couldn’t help but admire the careful and very deliberate scooping.

No pistachio was available, which left room for a second wild card gelato. Eton Mess was wonderfully smooth and elastic. It had a light sugary sweetness alongside its creaminess, but I failed to discern much fruitiness never mind any meringue. It was a similar story with the Rhubarb Custard with Ginger Biscuit Crumb. The same smooth elasticity made a welcome reappearance. The sharp sweetness of rhubarb contrasted neatly with a custardish creaminess verging on the buttery, but there was little of the promised ginger biscuit crumb.

There was no lemon sorbet on the day of my visit, just a raspberry and mint sorbet. It was surprisingly elastic – just as much as the pair of gelati. It had the sharp, distinctive sweetness of raspberry, but very little mint. It was not at all icy, but was still refreshingly cold.

Nonna’s Gelato

Although Nonna’s Gelato doesn’t get everything right, it’s accomplished enough that you should definitely seek out this street food stand if it pops up in a street food market near you.

Star rating: ★★★★☆

Oddono’s

The branches of this small chain tend to be located in the more fi-fi parts of town, but that shouldn’t put you off as Oddono’s gelato tended to be of a reasonably high quality. They were consistently creamy and elastic without any hint of crunchy iciness.

The pistachio only had occasional hits of nuttiness, but its peaks of evocative pith-like character was emphasised by actual bits of crunchy nut. The wild card peanut butter did a surprisingly good job of capturing the heavy sweet crunchy nuttiness of the source material along with a suggestion, but only a suggestion, of sticky viscosity.

Oddono’s lemon sorbet was just how I like my lovers – smooth and cool without being uncomfortably cold. It had the distinctive sweet and sour tang of lemon, balancing both and not wandering into mouth pursing Jif territory.

gelato at Oddono’s

Oddono’s isn’t perfect, but it nonetheless does a good job of producing high quality gelato and sorbet at scale. If you happen upon a branch, descend upon it with an open maw and your credit card post haste.

Star rating: ★★★★☆

Olivogelo

Olivogelo’s gleaming white minimalist décor is especially welcome in the lifeless streets around Victoria coach station. Given its alleged Sicilian roots, it felt only right to sample the Sicilian nougat gelato. Although lacking in elasticity, it was nonetheless very smooth. Best of all was the taste – a joyful amond crunch combined with a milkiness and a saffron-like under taste.

The joy of the Sicilian nougat made the tame and faded pistachio all the more disappointing. The mandarin sorbet made up for it though with its supple smoothness, powerfully fruity sweetness and evocatively tangy finish.

gelato at Olivogelo

Olivogelo’s underwhelming pistachio gelato is all the more disappointing given the high quality of everything else. Still, Olivogelo is a must visit.

Star rating: ★★★★☆

Scoop

Scoop’s various branches across Zone 1 have a cheap and cheerful appearance which is more than can be said for its gelato. The almost brown-coloured pisatchio was reasonably nutty, but this was offset by its paste-like consistency that almost resembled plasticene.

The wild card cherry and milk was less heavy and leaden, but it had an overly medicinal sweetness akin to Calpol. I like the taste of Calpol (I had a sickly childhood), but that this was far too unpleasant and bore little resemblance to the actual fruit.

The tang of the mango sorbet verged on sourness and was far too artificial tasting. Oddly, the sorbet was more pleasingly elastic than either the pistachio or cherry and milk gelati.

gelato at Scoop

Scoop’s branches are conveniently located, but I can only bear to drag my bloated carcass into one for a sorbet. The gelato just weren’t worth it.

Star rating: ★★☆☆☆

Sensations

Located on a stretch of Holloway Road not too far from Arsenal’s Emirates stadium, Sensations looks and feels like the bastard offspring of Sprinkles in all its garishly decorated glory.

Sensations’ pistachio gelato was reasonably elastic, but it wasn’t creamy enough and instead had a more paste-like consistency which was just as unpleasant as it sounds. Its nuttiness was very subdued, making for a very unsatisfactory experience.

pistachio gelato at Sensations

Sensations’ kit kat gelato was very odd. Like the pistachio, it had an unusual paste-like consistency and was even less pleasing than the pistachio due to its underwhelming taste. It was mildly malty, but it had none of the biscuit crunch or cheap sweetness of low-grade milk chocolate that makes Kit Kat such a guilty pleasure.

kit kat gelato at Sensations

The mango sorbet was a bit too icy in places, but it was otherwise quite smooth with a moderately sweet and evocative mango tang. It’s a mild impersonation of the fruit at best, but it was the one pleasure of the evening next to the two scoops of deformed gelato.

mango sorbet at Sensations

Holloway Road isn’t the most glamourous stretch of London you’ll ever come across, but it doesn’t deserve such poor quality gelato as this. The only sensation I feel at Sensations is icy resentment.

Star rating: ★★☆☆☆

Slice and More

Like Fulham’s Ice and Slice, this Old Street eatery sells gelato alongside pizza. The name is slightly deceptive though as it only seems to sell pizza in either whole or half-pie portions – not individual slices. Before we get onto Slice and More’s gelato, a few words about the pizza. Although the pizza dough was thin and reasonably fluffy at the centre, it became much harder and uncomfortably chewy the further out towards the crust.

Pepperoni actually had some spice for once and was joined by surprisingly elastic and creamy mozzarella, which made up for the muted tomato sauce. A capricciosa used the same tomato and mozzarella base as the pepperoni. The unremarkable ham and mushroom was livened up by some unexpectedly salty, yielding olives and supple, reasonably bitter artichoke segments.

capricciosa pizza at Slice and More

pepperoni pizza at Slice and More

Although the pistachio gelato wasn’t elastic at all, it was reasonably dense with a creamy mouthfeel. Rather than nuttiness, it tasted more like matcha green tea with a lightly oily bitter tang. Odd and not unpleasant, but not what I want from a pistachio gelato. A lack of any interesting wild card flavours whatsoever led me to plump for the chocolate. It had a similar texture to the pistachio, but its mild nutty sweetness bore more of a resemblance to nutella than to dark or milk chocolate.

The less said about the lemon sorbet the better. It was far too lumpy with crunchy ice crystals, while its muted flavour occasionally spiked into a one note tartness.

gelato at Slice and More

Slice and More is only really good for a late night feed and treat if you’re staggering home from a night out in Shoreditch/Hoxton. It’s not much good for anything else.

Star rating: ★★☆☆☆

Snowflake

I wasn’t expecting much from this late night Soho gelato joint, so I was pleasantly surprised by the buttery smoothness and superb elasticity of its gelato. Plus, both of the gelato I tried managed to be bracingly, refreshingly cold without any hint of iciness.

The pistachio was consistently and profoundly nutty with the taste of pith. The apple and cinnamon wild card was lightly tart, but was entirely lacking the warm spice of cinnamon.

pistachio gelato at Snowflake

apple and cinnamon gelato at Snowflake

I could’ve opted for the usual lemon sorbet, but the papaya flavour caught my eye. It had a candy-like sugary sweetness that didn’t really capture the subtle nuances of the fruit. Even so, like the gelato, it was very supple in its smoothness.

papaya sorbet at Snowflake

Although only the only confection at Snowflake to sweep the board was the pistachio gelato, everything else still had something superb enough to write home about. Snowflake isn’t quite as special as it could be, but it’s unlikely you’ll come away from this gelateria unhappy.

Star rating:  ★★★★☆

Sprinkles

If there’s one thing grimmer than the grey stretch of Finchley outside Sprinkles’ door, then it’s the cheap porn star bourdoir décor inside the door. It truly is a pulsatingly garish sight to behold.

Sweet Zombie Jesus.

What matters though is the gelato and here Sprinkles come up short as well. While reasonably elastic and smooth, the pistachio gelato’s transient nuttiness was flaccid to the point of non-existence. The similarly textured ‘Crème Egg’ managed to capture the sweet milkiness of the chocolate’s ‘egg white’, but it had none of the tanginess or creaminess of the ‘yolk’ and, perhaps mercifully, none of the sharp sweet tang of cheap and nasty Cadbury’s chocolate. Or the taste of any chocolate at all, for that matter.

The lemon sorbet was very tart, but not unbearably so. It was almost consistently smooth, with only an icy spot or two letting the side down.

creme egg gelato and lemon sorbet at Sprinkles

pistachio gelato at Sprinkles

There might be a good all-rounder gelato among Sprinkles’ cascading cavalcade of concoctions, but I doubt it.

Star rating: ★★☆☆☆

Unico

Unico is located in the town centre of Bromley, one of southeastern London’s most spotless boroughs and also one of its most crushingly dull. It’s the last place I’d expect to find a gelateria – especially one backed by professional footballers. In a neat touch, there are power sockets with USB ports underneath the bar-style tables.

The plating is utterly ridiculous though – squeezing three large scoops into a wee little cup the size of Donald Trump’s modesty was a surefire recipe for drippage. It’s worth putting up with though – the superb levels of smoothness and elasticity were simply brilliant. Although arguably verging onto soft scoop territory, the scoops of gelato had just enough density to avoid such ignominy.

The strong pistachio flavour almost had an edge of pithiness and was consistently strong regardless. Despite the cheat of having a hot bottom layer of dark, bittersweet chocolate sauce, the Due Torri wild card was nonetheless immensely pleasing. The mascarpone gelato was more buttery than milky, but it was still nonetheless delightful – especially as it had the same silky texture as the pistachio gelato. It would’ve been more than good enough on its own – combined with the cheating chocolate sauce and it was simply divine.

The smooth lemon sorbet was a good ‘un too, neatly balancing sour and sweet in a cool, refreshing spherical package.

gelato at Unico

I never thought I’d find top-notch gelato in Zone 6 of all places, but that’s London for you. It’s full of surprises and so is Unico.

Star rating: ★★★★★

Venchi

Venchi was the least impressive of the gelato sellers I had the chance to try in Rome, so I held out little hope that its small Covent Garden shop could do any better. Venchi’s small portion size – around 1/3 to half the size of other three scoop cups – wasn’t a good start unless you count it as a crude form of calorie control.

Surprisingly, the salted toffee wasn’t all bad. Essentially Venchi’s take on the postmodern-ish salted caramel, the caramelised sweetness wasn’t too overpowering which is just as well as the hint of saltiness present wasn’t enough to counterbalance it. It was pleasingly elastic, supple and smooth though.

This made the unexpectedly clumpy pistachio all the more surprising, although it eventually smoothed out into a reasonable resemblance of supple evenness. The feeble nuttiness faded quickly though.

Venchi’s lemon sorbet was a bit too icy and crunchy for my liking. Oddly, it somehow managed to have a sour tang of the fruit but without the accompanying citrusy zest. That’s an accomplishment, if an unwelcome one.

gelato at Venchi

Despite the spot-on mouth feel of Venchi’s gelato, its amateurish flavours, the bomb of a sorbet and small portion sizes make this gelateria almost as bad value as the neighbouring Morelli’s.

Star rating: ★★☆☆☆

Vero Gelato (at Gastronomia Italia)

Vero Gelato is a sub-brand from DiSotto and separate from the food service catering company’s dismal own-brand gelato. It’s stocked less widely than the main DiSotto brand gelato which is a good thing, as it means you’re less likely to inflict it upon yourself. Gastronomia Italiana is a charmingly fusty Italian deli near Victoria. I can’t speak to the quality of its other wares, but Gastronomia Italiana isn’t doing itself any favours by stocking Vero Gelato flavours.

Pistachio had a reasonably strong nuttiness at first, but it faded quickly. It was moderately elastic and smooth, but not exceptionally so. In the absence of any sorbets, I plumped for the strawberry which was far too thin and watery and did a poor impression of a diluted Yoplait.

The wild card caramel crunch had a very vague caramelishness to it, with an occasional crunch provided by small dreary chocolate balls that might have been in the same room as some proper chocolate once. It was at least somewhat elastic and smooth.

Vero Gelato at Gastronomia Italia

Vero Gelato is somewhat better than the main DiSotto brand gelato, but that’s not saying much.

Star rating: ★★☆☆☆

Wafflemeister (Westfield Stratford)

This waffle chain also sells gelato, or at least it does at its concession nestled deep inside the mindnumbing labyrinth that is the Westfield shopping centre in Stratford. The pistachio gelato was far too airy and wispy – it just wasn’t dense, elastic or supple enough. The flavour wasn’t very impressive either – the very mild nuttiness faded with indecent haste.

pistachio gelato from Wafflemeister

The wild card creme brulee gelato was somewhat creamy and buttery compared to the pistachio, but it was still too airy and wispy for its own good. There was no attempt to replicate or evoke the crisp crust and custardy nature of a creme brulee, leaving me to puzzle at the point of this gelato’s existence.

Unsurprisingly, given the poor textural quality of the gelati, the mango sorbet was too watery. This did at least mean that it didn’t suffer from any of the excessive iciness that blighted other gutter-level sorbets in this group test. The sweet tang of mango was moderate in strength and consistency, but its one note sweetness tasted a little artificial.

mango sorbet and creme brulee gelato from Wafflemeister

Why Wafflemeister? Why?

Star rating: ★☆☆☆☆

The Winners

It’s a little depressing that there’s still so much poor quality gelato so widely available throughout London. In the end, though, the positives outweigh the negatives. Although not quite meeting the Roman standard, there is also some excellent quality gelato and sorbet to be had in the Big Smoke.

Honourable mentions go to Nonna’s Gelato and Mantovani 1946 – their icy treats may be flawed, but they’re still heads and shoulders above many other vendors in the capital. Coming out on top are Gelupo, Oddono’s, Olivogelo and Snowflake. Although all fall a little short in one way or another, they all still serve superlative gelati and sorbet that’s absolutely worth your time, calories and money.

Those four cover a decent geographical swathe of London, but the very best gelato in my books lies far out south in Bromley, zone 6, of all places. Unico’s gelato and sorbet comes closest to meeting the Roman standard, which, in this context, really is the highest praise I can think of. Since most people won’t be willing to travel that far (which is fine given the four other superlative options located elsewhere), Bromley-ites should count their lucky stars.

Middle Eastern BBQ sequel goes back to basics

When most restaurants decide to expand by opening new branches, they usually sprout carbon copy clones of the original, try to make each new location different from all the others or try to strike some of middle-ground balance. Berber and Q, the flawed yet generally still superb Middle Eastern-themed Haggerston barbecue restaurant, has taken a different approach.

As its name suggests, Berber and Q’s new Shawarma Bar in Exmouth Market strips the menu back to basics. It’s divided into four sections – shawarma, rice bowls, sandwiches and vegetable side dishes. Most of the meats make repeat appearances in different sections, so you can have your lamb or beef stuffed into a pitta rather than served on rice or carb-less if you so wish.

If the address and premises look familiar, that’s because the Shawarma Bar has taken over the premises of what used to be the well-intentioned but wobbily executed pork restaurant Blackfoot. Reservations are only taken for lunch and it’d probably be a good idea to book on and around weekends given its close proximity to the heart of Islington. Snaggletooth and I didn’t have any trouble snagging a table one early midweek evening.

Lamb shawarma might just be another name for lamb doner (for all intents and purposes), but Berber and Q’s version here is still worth seeking out. Dense, moist, smoky and meaty pieces of lamb had a fruity sweetness that meshed well with the umami tomato and tahini salad. Chewy then fluffy soft flatbread, or lettuce for those of you still skipping carbs, are provided for scooping the smoky, sweet and nutty morsels into your mouth.

Bowls in photos may be deeper than they appear.

Lettuce for wrapping with added mint and sumac-dusted onions.

The lamb kofta rice bowl was less successful. Although the rice itself was moreishly dressed, the somewhat bland and dry meatballs were a let down. Although still coarsely textured, what I really wanted were moist elongated lozenges of offaly, smoky lamb.

Not baller.

More like Ballmer.

Another meaty disappointment arrived in the form of the braised beef short rib stuffed into a pitta. The moderately unctuous strands and chunks of beef short rib weren’t bad, but they were hard to appreciate given the mass of salad and chunks of sweet potato. This sandwich was nothing if not generously sized though – like all the meat dishes here, there was more than enough to share between myself and Snaggletooth.

The stuffed pitta sandwiches are also available for takeaway.

Braise the lord.

Although the meat unsurprisingly gets top billing at the Berber and Q Shawarma Bar, you would be a fool to overlook the vegetarian side dishes. Tahini, rich in bold sesame, and creamy, nutty chickpeas were a revelation for Snaggletooth who had only ever had far less satisfactory versions before.

Submerged.

Although you get a portion of mixed tomatoes and tahini with the lamb shawarma, you can never have too much of the wonderfully nutty tahini and the umami tomatoes in your life.

Tahini good enough to make and break empires and kings.

Surprisingly, the chunk of braised cauliflower wasn’t as creamy or as bitter as the best examples of this increasingly well-appreciated vegetable, but it was still good enough to win over Snaggletooth who had only ever had far less accomplished cauliflower dishes before.

Colleague-flower dish.

The one side dish that came close to duffness was, surprisingly, the labneh. More like a chunky cottage or cream cheese than the smoother and milkier versions that I’m used to, it wasn’t as refreshing as I would’ve liked – especially with the punchy chilli and dill garnishes unbalancing everything.

Yog on.

An ice cream pitta sandwich sounds bonkers, but the reality was a little more mundane than the crazy name would have you believe. The ‘pitta bread’ was actually a fried doughnut pastry. Crisp and sugary, it was filled with a gently but still enjoyably sesame flavoured ice cream as well as bits of melted chocolate and caramelised banana. Warm and crisp, then cool, sweet and nutty, it was surprisingly enjoyable even if it did leave me longing for an even stronger flavoured sesame ice cream.

‘Ice cream pitta sandwich’ sounds more intriguing than ‘ice cream filled doughnut’. Or does it?

Snaggletooth’s cardamom malabi was light on the titular spice, but this did at least mean it didn’t overwhelm the milkiness of the lightly sweet and just set panna cotta-like malabi. A subtle, but still pleasing dessert overall.

Red, Green and moo.

The Verdict

Although it’s a shame that Berber and Q’s second restaurant isn’t more ambitious than the first, the Shawarma Bar’s concentration on doing a few dishes well is admirable. Inevitably, this pared back menu combined with the kitchen’s almost alarmingly fast serving times makes the Shawarma Bar a somewhat utilitarian eatery rather than a destination restaurant. You either begin or end your night here, rather than lingering for hours with friends.

What to order: Lamb shawarma; Almost anything vegetarian; Ice cream pitta sandwich

What to skip: Braised short rib stuffed pitta; Labneh

Name: Berber and Q Shawarma Bar

Address: 46 Exmouth Market, London EC1R 4QE

Phone: 020 7837 1726

Web: http://www.shawarmabar.co.uk

Opening Hours: Monday-Thursday noon-15.00 and 18.00-23.00; Friday-Saturday noon-15.00 and 18.00-midnight; closed Sunday. 

Reservations: essential the closer you get to the weekend, but only accepted at lunchtime

Average cost for one person including soft drinks and service charge: £40 approx. (you’ll spend about £10-15 less per person if you aren’t as ravenous as we were)

Rating: ★★★☆☆

Globe-trotting ex-Palomar chef needs to settle down

Fusion food is one of those misguided and blingtastically tacky relics of the 1980s that should’ve died long ago along with shoulder pads, the New Romantics and Thatcherism. Foley’s doesn’t serve fusion food, strictly speaking, but its menu does swagger across the globe pulling in ingredients and techniques from the Americas to south eastern Asia and the Middle East.

This isn’t entirely surprising as the head chef is apparently a veteran of The Palomar, which also ranges wide in its influences but still tends to limit its remit to the Middle East and the Maghreb. The food, as we’ll soon see, has its problems, but this is a restaurant review and not just a food review. The service, to put it kindly, can be highly variable. It can be slow and non-existent. Or it can be excessively chatty and matey. If you’re lucky, it’ll be harried and laconic, but still generally efficient. The front of house helps set the tone for a restaurant and Foley’s tone is all over the place.

‘Foley’s’ is just one or two syllables removed from ‘folly’.

Then there’s comfort. Don’t let the staff seat you at the oddly elevated stool-like table for two on the far right of the ground floor dining room. It was so painfully uncomfortable that the CIA are probably studying it right now for their ‘enhanced interrogations’. The rest of the ground floor seating is generally fine, but be wary of being seated downstairs at the bar surrounding the small kitchen. Although it gives you a good view, the lack of ventilation is oppressive, especially at the height of the London summer, and the throbbingly loud music is grating (although to be fair, this can also be a problem at The Palomar).

All of these problems are fixable, of course, but then there’s the food which is a whole other mixed bag in of itself.

First things first

Ceviche tacos use endive leaves rather than tortillas as wrappers, a trick borrowed from south east Asia and modified. Regardless, this mash-up of two Mexican classics was an unbalanced affair. The anonymised tuna and octopus segments ended up providing texture rather than taste, as they were buried underneath a heap of accompaniments. The coconut miso sauce did provide a good hit of umami, while the peanuts were crunchy and nutty. Even so, this feels like a waste of seafood.

Is there a carpenter out there, somewhere, that specialises in making odd wooden plates for half-baked faux tacos?

Half-faked.

Although not especially buttery or smoky, the halved aubergine was at least fleshy. Despite its already one-dimensional nature, the aubergine could still have been the basis of a good eggplant dish. The lightly spiced yoghurt, gently sweet dates and tart, crunchy pomegranate were a good start. But then the kitchen also piled on a heap of tame feta and oddly crisp and chewy fried quinoa. The result was an overwhelming mish mash of disparate elements, some good and some bad, none of which gelled together in the end.

Mish mash, monster mash

The intriguingly named ‘Cornflake-crusted popcorn chicken’ was a much less exotic saddle of chicken in the flesh. A hefty hunk of moist and fatty coiled meat was wrapped in crisp fried chicken skin and then topped with plenty of sweetcorn and tart, supple and taut shimeji. I was highly sceptical at first, but this dish was hugely enjoyable in the end – even with the tame chorizo.

Saddle up.

Umami was the overriding sensation with the nori-wrapped tuna. Not just from the nori lining the raw tuna medallions, but also from the supple, slippery seaweed. Plenty of firm edamame, slippery shiitake and sweet, tart and crisp julienned pear made up the supporting cast. This odd dish was a peculiar take on Japanese food where complexity is the order of the day, rather than simplicity, and the fish isn’t the star, but plays a supporting textural role instead. Even so, this dish was still enjoyable enough on its own terms.

Gone fishing.

A fluffy cardamom-flavoured soft cheese ball, somewhat like creme fraiche, was the star of the deconstructed baklava cheesecake. The stodgy, chewy, almost hard pastry was not only shamefully bad and undeserving of top billing, but it wouldn’t pass muster in Turkey either.

Forget that Erdogan poem, this is an insult to Turkey.

Going back for seconds

Chicken ‘burnt ends‘ were no such thing, but these tender and moist poultry chunks were still enjoyable anyway. Not only due to the well-grilled nature of the chicken, but also because of the tangy, moreish sauce that they came in – even if they didn’t really resemble their Korean-style billing.

Naming restaurants after the street they’re located on is a trend that has to stop.

Cauliflower florets were a bit too soft and bland, leaving it to umami tomatoes, nutty tahini and crunchy, smoky peanuts to pick up the slack in this vegetarian dish.

Slippin’ into darkness.

Tender beef short rib meat (served off the bone – and I’m moderately certain it was short rib beef) was tender, gently meaty and slick with rendered fat. It was surprisingly well-executed, with its relative richness offset by a salad of relatively sharp julienned vegetables, crispy shallots and crunchy nuts. Although billed as a som tam, it was a faint echo of the best examples of that Thai salad and wasn’t quite the fine accompaniment that the beef deserved.

This review’s procrastination was brought to you, in part, by Creedence Clearwater Revival.

Beef teeth.

Grilled octopus was a bit too soft, so it ended up serving as a subpar conduit for the distinctly sesame-flavoured mayo and the moderately spicy sriracha. The spicy pork mince tasted, quite oddly, more like a Chinese-style prawn paste with its fishy, salty, spicy, umami tang. Its punchiness compensated for the flaccid octopus.

Yes, this is an octopus dish. Believe it or not.

It should come as no surprise that the Fatboy Elvis is a generally American-inspired dessert – or at least inspired by the image of American food in the popular imagination. Squares of cake with a nutty, chocolate-coffee-ish flavour was neatly complimented by a banana cream. It was true to the fruit, tangy sharp and sweet, as was the strawberry jam. Bits of salty and moreish candied bacon were surprisingly complimentary to the sweetness and sharpness of the more traditional non-savoury parts of this dessert, making for a well-rounded whole.

Vegas Elvis body on the way, unless I invest in more gym time.

Threesome gleesome

Light and oil-free sweet potato cakes didn’t just rely on their innate sweetness to charm me over – it was also infused with saffron and cumin which blended surprisingly well with the garnishes of sharp red onions and lightly sweet and sharp grilled pineapple.

Think of them as sweet, lightly spiced vegetarian fish cakes.

If that helps you.

A varied selection of supple and wrinkly greens came dressed with crunchy pistachio and sweet, sharp orange. The feta was neither here nor there though, and the sparse quinoa left me similarly unmoved. It’s not a bad salad, but it’s not a great one either.

Pair at the next table introduced themselves as ‘reviewers’ and wanted to speak to the manager. That’s the sort of nonsense that I will never do.

I mean, the sheer favouritism-seeking cheek of it.

Mildly earthy and dense cubes of lamb weren’t the best of bits of baby sheep I’ve ever had, but they were pleasing enough when taken with the nutty, lightly spiced dukkah, sprightly hummus and sweet, tingly peppers. However, oddly crisp, fritter-like cornbread squares and cumin-infused mini cauliflower florets were served alongside the lamb and tended to overwhelm the meat. They’re best taken after the lamb rather than with it – especially the ultimately unpleasantly stodgy fried cornbread.

Tricolore.

Rump frump.

I’m not sure what was worse – the stodgy, overcooked hake or the oddly crispy, popcorn-esque chickpeas. The tame kale and okra weren’t very impressive either. The best things here were the coconut sauce and a lightly sharp green sauce of indeterminate origin, but these were never going to be enough to rescue the abused fish and weird chickpeas.

Hake crime.

Light and creamy coconut-flavoured panna cotta was pleasing and deserved better accompaniments than the oddly frozen, uncomfortably cold and flavourless lychees or the uninspired crumble. The latter did at least have a gentle herby zing, but this was still very much a dessert of two halves.

Icy freak.

Go fourth and multiply

Bok choy is more commonly associated with stir-fries than with salads, but that hasn’t stopped Foley’s from including the Chinese leaf in its ‘market salad’. The leaf and stems turned out to be surprisingly peppery, refreshing and free from the excess oil that often bedevils stir-fried bok choy. The stems and bulbs of the vegetable were quite chewy though, which was an odd sensation. As usual, Foley’s kitchen insisted on dumping in a whole truckload of other elements – sweet and crisp chunks of apple, crunchy nuts, mung bean sprouts and buttermilk. The sheer mass of everything made for a very filling salad, but the melange of flavours and textures came across as muddled with no clear centre or focus.

A ‘market’ salad implies ingredients that vary depending on what’s fresh and in season. Yet the ingredients here remain always remain the same.

The tender pork belly turned out to be surprisingly fat-free. This might be welcome if you’re an anhedonic killjoy, but fat is one of the things that distinguishes pork belly from other cuts of pig. Although the tamarind marinade was pleasingly sweet, peppery and musky, it also hid the character of the pork – so much so, that it could almost have been any other meat. Even so, the marinade crescendoed into a mild, cumulative chilli heat which was neatly counteracted by the reasonably refreshing strands of julienned green papaya. Crunchy nuts made a repeat appearance, adding another layer of texture. It’s a peculiar meat dish where the sauce is the star, rather than the meat itself.

Belly ache.

The Verdict

Foley’s isn’t a bad restaurant. There’s no way it could be, when its kitchen is capable of knocking out such bold, punchy and uncompromising flavours. But that doesn’t mean it’s great. Even if you put aside the problems surrounding service, comfort and atmosphere, the kitchen’s tendency to dump a multitude of elements onto a plate often lead to a confused, aimless mess. If this kitchen sink approach didn’t obscure the qualities of the meat, fish or vegetables on the plate, then the ham-fisted bludgeon-like cooking did instead.

There is some joy to be had at Foley’s, but it felt like hard work rather than a good time. It’s very much a second-rate fallback option when you can’t get in anywhere better.

What to order: Cornflake chicken; Nori wrapped tuna; Chicken ‘burnt ends’; Sticky beef; Fatboy Elvis

What to skip: Baklava cheesecake

Name: Foley’s

Address: 23 Foley Street, Fitzrovia, London W1W 6DU

Phone: 0203 137 1302

Web: http://foleysrestaurant.co.uk

Opening Hours: Monday-Saturday noon-23.30; closed Sunday. 

Reservations: essential for dinner; probably a good idea for lunch

Average cost for one person including soft drinks and service charge: £40-50 approx. (a light lunch will cost around £25)

Rating: ★★★☆☆