londonelicious: a london restaurant blog

A Penny Saved: The Clerkenwell Dining Room

69 St John Street
EC1M 4AN
020 7253 9000

Date of Last Visit: Tuesday, 27 November 2007

The Victims: Marcos, Colleeen, Isabelle, Aya, Nanta, Christine

The Damage: More about this later.

The Background: So more than a year ago, I got big time suckered into a Taste London card. £40 or something for a green and black plastic card that gets you discounts at restaurants around town.

This made me bitter because TopTable.co.uk doesn't charge you anything for discounts...so £40...hmmm...steep.

And then for the kicker--Taste London auto-renews your subscription, so you get stuck with it for another year if you're not paying attention.

But you know...I say "got stuck with it" very loosely because after our dinner at The Clerkenwell Dining Room on Tuesday--with our 50% discount--I'm sorta hooked! This was a very nice dinner for seven for £170 quid. That's £24.29 each. Not so bad. Sure, we went light on the wine and only 28.6% of us had dessert, but six out of seven of us had a starter. And all of us had coffee. So £24.29 each is a good value. Let me tell you some more.

The Entrance: They take our coats. This place is a lot fancier than I thought it would be. I'm in jeans and trainers. The patrons are all doing business in their cufflinks over their sea bass. Ack...the drawbacks of working for an "everyday is casual day" company.

The Service: Is SURLY. I accidentally tell them we're eight people, not seven. And they reset that table like they were about to walk the plank. It was funny.

The Starters: Mine was squid. It was okay. Better was the salad that it was served along with. Zingy.

The Mains: I went for the sea bass and it was a hugely generous portion and it was served with three HUGELY insane scallops. (No cutting in half to make them look like more here.) I was really impressed with the portion size and the general tastiness. I looked around later and there wasn't a scrap of food left on the table.

The Tap Water Test: Our surly server brought the jug, poured me a glass, and then took the jug away. Others at the table fell for "Still or Sparkling?" and when I wasn't looking, the server filled my glass up with paid-for still water. I was HAD. Don't let this happen to you.

The Verdict: I would take a business dinner here. Particular ones where there are Americans present and they are a bit sensitve about the exchange rate. (£1 = $2.07 according to Google today.) And I would use my TasteLondon card again. It takes a little bit of planning (the first couple of places we tried on Tuesday afternoon were booked) but it's worth it.

Okonomiyaki. Say it Ten Times Fast.

The Sunday Up Market
Brick Lane
E1

The Sunday Up Market is rapidly becoming Little Japan. Firstly, there are the hoards of Japanese fashion students. Secondly, there are the many little Japanese snacking tables that have turned up.

I forget now if I've already mentioned my affinity for Japanese pancakes--okonomiyaki to you. Tucked into the Up Market is one little stall that does a brisk business in cabbage and cheese pancakes, doused in mayonnaise. I know this might sound gross, but it's actually quite nice. And quite cheap at £3.50 a pop, plus a quid for a green tea.

Wander around the food area of the market and you'll see a guy selling octopus balls, a sushi table, and outside the market (at the entrance to the overflow space), there's a yaki tori table.

How fun. Now if only I could say that in Japanese!

Spain, Portugal, the New World, and Italy. With a Little PDA on the Side.

of Montreal – Wraith Pinned to the Mist and Other Games

Yes, I was traumatized during wine class the other week. Louise and I sat diagonally across from a girl and a guy who couldn't keep their hands off each other--for two ENTIRE hours--while we were relishing our rioja. You could light a fire, I tell ya.

So the sad part is that I think I learned more about the birds and the bees and how to best maneuvre about under tables in public places than I did about the vinos de España y Portugal.

In the end, I liked the Vinho Verde from Portugal. I learned that petillant means "slightly sparkling." Tucked into my notes, next to "GET A ROOM," I wrote "green fruit, fizzy, cool."

And then it was time for the Kiwi-licious Nick Dumergue. He took us through the entirety of the New World in all of two hours. (Our lovebirds were strangely absent.) I liked the 2005 Pinot Noir by Quartz Reef, in Central Otago New Zealand. Central Otago, apparently, is the most southern vineyard region in the world. I loved, loved, loved the wine from my country. (I am NOT biased, I promise! It was a blind tasting!) It was the 2004 Old Vines Zinfandel from Seghesio, Sonoma California. I learned that Zinfandel is very much related to Primitivo in Italy and that, at the end of the day, Maury is right: DNA don't lie. (Oh my God, that Wikipedia entry has to be the funniest thing I've read in the nearest short-term time period.)

This past Tuesday, Nick took us on a tour of Italy. And now I so totally want to go on this course. But in between, let me tell you what my notes say. 
1. Only 10% of Sicilian wine is bottled.
2. The moon and biodynamics are forces to be reckoned with. As proved by one of my favorites, the 2004 Rossa di Montalcino, Stella di Campalto, from San Giuseppe in Tuscany.
3. Nebbiolo can strip your teeth.

Ah wine. My mother only drinks Riesling these days. She is so ahead of the curve.

P.S. Again, sometimes you need a stock photo. This one is from ppdigital via morguefile.com

Yes, That Marco: Marco

Marco
Stamford Bridge
Fulham Road
SW6 1HS
020 7915 2929

The Victim: Roger, whom I met on the Internet. Chowhound, that is.

The Damage: £60ish?

Lifestyles&Vistas – Go To The Crossroads

The Background: So one night, I think I came home from somewhere and was trolling Chowhound, trying to help the legions of American tourists find the best fish and chips in London. (I haven't found it yet. I like the Golden Hind, but the fries are crap.) I saw this post from Roger, saying that he was in town for a few days and his dinner plans had fallen through and did anyone want to join him at Marco. Feeling adventurous, I said yes and spent a lovely evening with the very interesting and foodie-lific Roger, sometime travel agent, sometime chef, and writer of the culinary sorts.

And I am a terrible person because I've--once again--ignored my mother's advice and neglected to send a follow-up thank you note. (Sarah, if you're reading this, I'm sending you one, I promise. Your gifts were perfect and wonderfully unexpected. You shouldn't have.)

The Entrance: I meet Roger at his hotel, which is conveniently located right next to Marco. Roger, you didn't know this, but I had to send many texts to my friend Feathers to let her know that you are a wonderful person and that you were not going to murder me between courses of foie gras.

Friends are funny that way.

We head over to the restaurant and I like it upon entering. You know I am a sucker for tilework. I like the floor. I like the ladies loo (although for a new restaurant, those stall doors should close). I like my kir royale at the bar. In short, we are off to a good start.

The Food: Ah, never, never wait a while before writing your review. I remember that Roger had the scallops and they looked fun. It was a generous portion. I tried a bit and they were really nice. I want to say I had something salmon-y? And that it was nice? But not so nice that I will remember it forever. Sigh.

More about The Food: The maitre'd recommends the pigeon stuffed with foie gras. He says it's amazing. I like pigeon. I've come a long way from that day in 2000 in that terrible hotel in Southern China where they wheeled the deep-fried pigeon around the lazy susan in front of me and I refused to eat it.

Pigeons, I declared, are dirty birds! Rats with wings!

But then I went to France (many times) and become a sucker for pigeon. (Which you must, of course, pronounce not as pij-un but rather pij-EE-ohn. It makes all the difference.) 

So I am excited for my pigeon at Marco. So very excited. And then it arrives. And it's pigeon wrapped in cabbage. And I somehow missed that cabbage part. Now I like cabbage...I like kimchee. So I give it a shot. And well, not only is it wrapped in cabbage, but it's also very very plain. This dish, that I thought would be so amazingly decadent and delicious, NEEDS SALT. And I feel a little bad about putting salt on Marco's creation. So I don't. But hindsight--which is always 20/20--says I should have. Hmmm. (And now I wonder because I just read Marina's review in the Metro and she says the pigeon is the best dish she had.)

The Dessert: Now this, I remember! We split a lemon tart (only one of my favorite things in the entire world) and a tarte tatin for two. The lemon tart was really really lovely. I prefer mine a little more solid, but still, this was a great lemon tart. The tarte tatin was a little OTT for me. (OTT = Over the Top. Just in case you didn't know that.) Many people would like it though. And I didn't dislike it. It was just too too much, if you know what I mean.

The Verdict: You know, if Chelsea (the team) invited me to lunch, or someone going to a Chelsea match invited me to lunch, I'd go back to Marco. But I can't imagine that happening anytime soon. So there's that.

Jamie Oliver: Fifteen

Fifteen
13 Westland Pl
London, N1 7LP
Tel: 020 72513909

Jesca Hoop – Seed of Wonder

Date of Last Visit: Sunday, November 11, 2007

The Victims: Gerry, Ben, Anne-Helene

The Damage: £50ish per person?

The Story: So for all you stalkers out there, I live really close to Fifteen. But although I've lived really close for quite some time, I've never been. Until last Sunday.

And now Jamie Oliver's got me forever.

You see, nearly everything was perfect during our meal, and I can only hope to capture all the particulars correctly.

The Entrance: I arrive precisely on time. My internal clock continues to astound me. I want to know more about the genes that control one's understanding of time. Mine can be frightening. (And equally, really annoying. I do not suffer lateness gladly. But does anyone?) They take us to our table...we're eating in the more formal downstairs, as opposed to the informal trattoria on the ground floor.

The Service: They wisk away our coats, gladly. They bring us tap water--a big jug of tap water--and continue to fill up our glasses consistently throughout the meal. I love them. Our server says something like, "Take a look at the Drinks menu and if you don't see something you want on there, let me know. I'm sure we can find something for you." I order a Buck's Fizz (Mimosa, in American) and am very happy...the orange juice is super-freshly squeezed.

The Starters: Mine is Devonshire crab on polenta with chillis. It's delicious. It's really one of the nicest things I've had as of late. It's beautifully presented, and well, I'm a sucker for polenta. (Corn just sounds so much better when it's made into polenta, doesn't it?)  No, I haven't finished that book about corn in America yet.

The Ladies: Has a Dyson Airblade! It's the first one I've seen in a restaurant. I've seen one in the Islington Design Center, but nowhere else. It's fantastic. I want to wash my hands 12 times, just to use it. There's also a nice smelly candle in there. It's a nice loo.

More About The Service: We are with Anne-Helene, who is French. We tell our server we'd like something white and crisp and more mineral-y than anything else. She thinks about it and gives us a recommendation. We says sure, sign us up. She leaves. She comes back minutes later and says something like, "You know, I was thinking about your request in the kitchen and I realized we hadn't discussed the Sancerre. I think you'll really like that." She goes on to tell us more about the Sancerre and why it's right for us. We're hooked, again. I appreciated the fact that she had walked away from the table but continued to think about us. Anne-Helene approves, too. She would, of course.

The Mains: I go for something simple...just a pasta bolognese. Maybe I should have tried something more exciting. I, of all people, know that this is a high margin dish. But this dish delivers, twenty times over. It's not super-sophisticated or anything like that. It's just perfect on a Sunday afternoon when you haven't had breakfast. The pasta is perfectly al-dente, the sauce is amazingly flavorful. I am very happy.

The beauty queen of the table, however, is Ben's seafood stew (pictured). Now that was a gorgeous-looking dish. (Although I think that it was perhaps lacking in substance...i.e., it wasn't a very filling dish, gorgeous though it was.)

The Verdict: Yes. Very much so. Am already planning on bringing Aunt Ursula and Uncle George here when they come visit me in April of 2008!

Sushi: Atariya

20 James Street
W1U 1EH
Tel: 020 7491 1178

Date of Last Visit: Saturday, November 10, 2007

The Victim: Me, myself, and I

The Damage: £10ish.

The Background: I will admit to being a regular at Yo Sushi in Selfridges. It's just so damned convenient and fast. And you can normally depend on it to be really fresh given the high volumes. But I'm tired of Yo. I want something else. I vaguely remember Richard telling me that there are a bunch of Japanese restaurants by him, and he's somewhat off of Oxford St, so I spend an hour or two wandering up and down streets, no Japanese restaurants to be found.

And then I remembered that Oonth on Chowhound had recommended Atariya a couple of times, so I Googled it and there I was.

Now Atariya is NOT a destination. It's more like a sushi-deli. It gets a -2 on the atmosphere scale. You stand at the sushi bar, and maybe if you're lucky (like I was), there's a seat at one of the two-tops. I placed my order at the register--the server was so sweet and friendly--and then I took my seat.

Given the scarcity of tables, a Japanese guy quickly took the other seat at the table. What I found interesting was that my table was vacated by a Japanese-American, and then I sat with a Japanese-Japanese guy. So I'm already feeling that I'm in the right place.

The Food: I ordered a mixed sashimi plate and a spicy tuna roll. Both were perfect. Lovely. Fresh. Delicious. I wanted to take a picture but given that I was sitting with a stranger, it was hard. But it got me thinking...if their sushi is SO good, why don't they use their real estate a bit more wisely. Some examples:

The should rehang their door so it opens out, not in. This way, they can try to squeeze some seats in at the sushi bar.
They should move the deli fridge full of drinks and put two more tables in. Or maybe--and this I think is the best idea--a long picnic bench type of communal table. That would be great. They could fit six to 10 at that. I've got to think they'll make more money out of people sitting down and eating than they do off of people taking a drink from the cooler?
They should ditch the harsh lighting and bring the lighting down a notch. See, I'm liking Polo more and more every day.

Anyhow, I loved my food, but I missed the camraderie of Yo and the Selfridges foodhall. That being said, I feel like I'm in on a little secret, so I will be back to Atariya soon, I'm sure.

The Verdict: Yes.

Chinese: Shanghai Blues

Shanghai Blues
193-197 High Holborn
WC1V 7BD
Tel: 0207 404 1668

Date of Last Visit: Thursday, November1st

The Victims: Al, Dave, Natalie, and Dave's friend whose name I've forgotten. Bad of me! And she was really nice, too.

The Damage: £57 each

The Background: I like Chinese food. A lot. In a past life, I think I was Chinese. Give me chicken feet and I will eat them. (Although let it be known that I do not necessarily seek them out.) Snake, check. Tofu, check check check. About the only "Chinese" dish I don't like is sweet and sour chicken (or pork). Too sweet for me. (Some would argue that this is not Chinese food at all, so in that sense, it makes sense.)

So when Al suggests meeting up for dinner at Shanghai Blues, I am intrigued. I read some reviews online and more than a few mention how dark it is inside Shanghai Blues. I am even more intrigued. Even more so when a very large man lets me in the front door. A restaurant with a bouncer? Porquoi? (I would write "Why?" in Chinese, but my Chinese is limited to gweiluo in Cantonese, xie xie in Mandarin, and beer, which I always forget the word for.)

I am late--very unlike me--because of an unfortunate incident with my cash card where the machine said it was dispensing cash but no cash was forthcoming, but I catch Al and brother Dave at the bar (which is dark--but not so dark that you can't see), drinking martinis. I am reminded of my Sake-tini in Mexico, of all places. I peruse the bar menu and there are no Sake-tinis to be found, but I ask the bartender and he smiles knowingly. He has to call up a cucumber from the kitchen, and proceeds to slice it up a bit. He uses the slices to line the bottom of a martini glass. I feel like I am in the hands of an expert. He tells me I am in on a big secret at Shanghai Blues.

The sake-tini arrives a few minutes later and it is COLD. Icy cold. Perfect. I am in love.

The Service: I am not so in love with the service at Shanghai Blues. The serving staff are gruff and unhelpful. I pry recommendations out of them like English people performing denistry at home. (Btw, guys, this has GOT to stop.)

The Food: Our starters are beautifully presented though, so there's that. Al's got some little pumpkins...They are, if I get this right, pumpkin dumplings shaped like pumpkins. They are cute. (I took a photo but it is way too dark.) My dumplings come in their own little dumpling hammocks. Well done.

My main--a recommendation for which which I gave away my first unborn child--is the star of the night. It's beef and peppers and it's amazingly delicious. Days later and I am still thinking abou it. The rest of the dishs are not so nice. There are some limp veggie noodles and some slippery some spicy tofu.

After our meal, a very creative fruit tray arrives with a candle in it...it is Dave's birthday, after all. The waitstaff are temporarily redeemed, as they apparently overheard us say it was Dave's birthday and decided to put the festive fruit tray together for us. They fall back out of our good graces when our request for the check takes AGES.

The Verdict: That beef dish was great. And the dumplings were so cute. I made good choices. I would go back.

Upper Street Burrito Battles: Tortilla

When I learned that Tortilla opened a few days ago--just a few doors down from Mucho Mas--the first people I told were Stacey and Canadia Boy. Being the international jet setters that they are, they went straight there on their way back from the aiport. They crack me up. So I suggested Canadia Boy "guest blog" and give us all the low down. Here' he is, in his own words...

13 Islington High Street
N1 9LQ
0207 833 3103

It's amazing what can happen when you have faith.  After nearly three  years of hoping against hope for decent Mexican in my part of town*,  Mucho Mas opened for business right down the street and has been going  strong ever since.  Someone must have thought this was a good idea because, lo and behold, no more than 1,056 feet south** lies a new entrant into what shall henceforth be known as the "Upper Street Burrito Battles***," the ingrediently-named "Tortilla."

So, without further ado, here's how the skirmish went down (in true Londonelicious style -- it is Krista's blog, after all):

Name:  I've got to award creativity points to Mucho Mas -- plus, it's  simply more descriptive of the goods and services provided.  "Tortilla" could be anything from a chip (crisp, whatever) to a wrap or a Spanish (or South American) omelet.  My guess, given the proximity of Spain to London over Mexico, the general population will assume the Spanish meaning as opposed to the Mexican.  Plus, what do you think is going to happen when you Google "Tortilla" vs. "Mucho Mas?"  Yep, you guessed it -- the former comes up with entries that no brand of black-hat Search Engine Optimization will be able to replace (specifically, the erstwhile Wikipedia page on the subject), while the second link**** (and first paid link) for the latter takes you where  you need to go.  You need a good Google name in this day and age.
Mucho Mas 1, Tortilla 0.

Pimp My Blog. Please.

I need to spruce up the place and I've already decided I'm going on hiatus for the holidays--no posts towards the end of December. I'm sure you'll survive.

But I will work on some things. I've asked friends Renee and Matt to work on my use of white space. They're very graphical people, so let's see what they come up with. My attention deficit disorder means that any design will have to change frequently. Otherwise, I'll get bored. So I thought I'd take a poll. Pick the few things you think I should do with my blog by the end of this year. You can pick as many as you like. Just don't pick all of them, okay? Unfortunately, I haven't found a free polling widget that lets you score different options. (Surveymonkey will sort of get me what I want, but it's not embeddable...yet.)

I don't mean to bias you, but I'm a little worried about the Google map option. That's going to take me forever. Got any other ideas for me? Any cool widgets I should check out? Any cool sites I should link to? What am I missing out there in the blogosphere? Do tell...and in the coming days, I'll tell you about my meals at Shanghai Blues, Atari-ya, Fifteen, and the Liberty Cafe...also, a guest post from Canadia Boy all about the newest new burrito place on Upper Street (Tortilla, NOT Mucho Mas)...

Where Lunch Ends 12 Hours Later, Part III

It's still early, so we decide to head over to the Salibsury Hotel in Haringey for a few drinks. The Salisbury Hotel is pretty neat...it's Victorian...ornate. Nooks & crannies. It was too dark to get a picture of all the wrought iron on the outside, but I found this picture on Flickr that hopefully no one will mind me using...

The Salisbury Hotel
1 Grand Parade, Green Lanes
N4 1JX
020 8800 9617

We're wandering around the Salisbury, looking for somewhere to sit when we run into my friend Alex, the world-traveler and the only person I know whose CD collection is larger than mine. He and Fripp are sharing a cozy little nook (note, they're not a couple or anything) and we join them for a beer. Well, one beer turns into four and before we know it, Fripp has disappeared and Alex is falling asleep at the table.

We leave.

But the night is not over yet! No! We hop on a bus--how we love the bus!--towards Holloway for what else but a kebab at nowhere else but...

Crystal Restaurant (also known as Crystal Kebab and Crystal Charcoal)
522 Holloway Road
N7 6JP
020 7281 2846

The lamb rotating on the spit doesn't have that overly processed look to it...it looks like real meat! And guess what? THEY ARE OPEN 22 HOURS A DAY.

My Chicken Doner is one of the absolute best I've ever had. Actually, it is THE BEST. It's not in a pita, but rather is wrapped in something almost tortilla-like. If they're Turkish, can you call it chapati? I ask for no tomatoes and no onions and the staff cheekily hand me my doner and announce that it has extra onions and extra tomatoes. And you know what? The staff are kinda cute. (But I will not deny the possibility of beer goggles at this point in the evening.)

So part of me is wondering if I am imagining the deliciousness of this kebab, but I did a little research and founds all sorts of positive reviews. BBC boards. London-Eating. And a site all about kebabs. And this from Restaurant Spy. I am not alone in dreaming about my next visit to Crystal.

We enjoy our kebabs and I tell all my stories of refusing to share hotel rooms with single girl friends anymore. (I've taken one for the team two times too many.) We wander to the bus stop--the 43 runs all night!--and digest our kebab and our best day ever.

Me: "Wow, I wonder what time it is. It must be around midnight or so."

Ben: "Yeah, probably around midnight."

Me, Looking at Mobile Phone: "Holy crap! It's 3 a.m.! We met at 3 p.m.!"

The End.