We’ve done a pretty good job clinging onto the last of summer this year. And by we, I mean the great British weather.
I write this on Sunday 28th September, a mere three days from the month of October. It’s almost Halloween (which means it’s practically Christmas) and today I not only dared to leave the house without a jacket, but also without sleeves. Thorpe Parked reached a sizzling 26C (LOG FUME!), and tourists dressed for England’s brisk autumnal weather could be found slowly melting in jumpers and boots across the city.
New all day brasserie Bourne & Hollingsworth Buildings in Clerkenwell is attempting its own last hurrah for summer with its choice of interiors. Or at least, half of it. Described as having the ‘faded grandeur of a stately home’, the design is more of an odd marriage between two quite different halves; one with a becoming and moodily-lit cocktail bar complete with piano, low tables and a lot of suede sofas to recline and sup tipples upon, and one labelled the greenhouse.
The latter is where we were seated for dinner. It’s a cross between a John Lewis living room display and the set for a summer garden party. There are soft furnishings upholstered in bold floral prints, salvaged and weathered white iron and cane garden furniture, and ferns and ivy creeping around the fireplace and out of hanging baskets, all in an entirely closed space.
It’s a nice idea. But I can’t help but think that if it was indeed a glorious summer's day, I’d rather be seated in the real outdoors. And if it was a blustering winter’s day, I’d prefer to hunker down with a toddy out the front rather than sit in a pretend garden, without the grass. I didn’t dislike the greenhouse theme, I’m just unsure as to its point. We moved to the other half for post-dinner cocktails; I preferred it.
The kitchen is commandeered by Head Chef Alex Visciano, with a CV that includes stints at two Michelin-starred Michel Rostang in France and Sous Chef at the Connaught. The things coming from it were mostly agreeable, bar a couple of initial wrong foots.
Bread (very standard, at that) was served in a brown paper bag. Now, I know Duck & Waffle deliver their pigs ears in a brown paper bag, but that bag has a fun faux-wax seal of the restaurant’s logo on it. That bag also provides a medium via which the ears can flirt with you - with speckles of inviting piggy fat seeping through the paper - before you even see them. When the bag reaches the table, you instantly know you want in your mouth whatever is inside. There is a point to this bag.
There is no point to the bog-standard, corner-shop brown paper bread bag at B&H other than to irritate. I can think of no reason as to why this presentation was chosen, except that whoever made that decision is under the misguided pretence that it is in some way, cool. It is not. The bag became a makeshift plate on which to place the bread so we could see it. An actual plate would have been preferred.
The second questionable foot was the marinated squid with potato and fennel salad, which according to my dining partner, tasted ‘just like chicken tikka picnic bites you get from Waitrose’. Not necessarily a bad thing, just a little unexpected and it could have been better. It was also a cold dish (hence ‘salad’); I think it would have come across better hot (£9).
Onwards and pleasingly, mostly upwards. A rabbit and hazelnut terrine, wrapped in bacon, and served with a pickled apple slaw was cool and creamy, with great hits of pepper (£7). The lamb cannon with minted crust was full of the taste of iron, like a rare steak but with better texture and without the blood. We cooed over it a fair bit. It came with a well-seasoned ratatouille stuffed courgette flower, a nice alternative to the more commonplace goat’s cheese filling (£20).
Four scallops with good texture came with a parsnip puree and hazelnut gravy, a clever combination and pleasant plate, if not a little steep at £23. Sides were unfortunately, wholly uninspiring. Carrots, orange segments and cumin achieved two out of three in that there were carrots (£4). Seasonal vegetables were bland and boiled generic roots (£4).
On a high note it did finish. The insides of a caramel fondant oozed into a pool of pleasure around the sponge, served with peanut brittle and chocolate ice cream. I’ve never come across a fondant that wasn’t chocolate before; I think I’ll need to make this one at home. Big fondant fan, me (£5).
The cocktail bar and the guys behind it served us some great concoctions. Don’t ask me for details, but I can just about decipher in my (by this stage, inebriated) notebook scrawl the words: ‘West Indian Gimlet’, ‘navy strength gin’ and ‘homemade felerneeeum’ which I believe should say ‘homemade falernum’. All terms conducive to good drinking, which was certainly entertained. And I liked the bar stools. Black padded and velvet; plush and comfortable.
The accessories to the experience let it down: gimmicky paper bags, poor sides, a lack of attention to detail in some design aspects such as cheapo brown plastic Homebase plant pots on the table. But the core components are there: good plates of food, good service, good cocktails, good ambience and the potential for some spontaneous drunken serenading at the piano, I'm sure.
The B&H Buildings is not a bad place to while away some time and eat decent food. It's certainly nothing less than fair to mention I visited during their soft launch period, and the whole point of those is to iron out any teething problems in time for the full launch, which for them was the 22nd September.
Certainly worth poking your head around the door.
Liked lots: great tasting lamb, caramel fondant, cocktail bar, staff
Liked less: sides, squid, outside-inside interiors
Good for: I suspect the greenhouse is better enjoyed during the day, perhaps for a lazy Saturday lunch; potent cocktails, after work drinks
My rating: 3/5
Afiyet olsun.
Note: I was invited as a guest to review this restaurant.
I love a good brasserie. Particularly the ones of my mind, which play to the romantic idyll of how I envisage dining in France to be everywhere, all of the time.
In them, waiting staff in white shirts and black waistcoats glide around guests taking languorous lunches longer than the morning they spent in the office. The evenings host a convivial atmosphere with rotund diners wallowing in the digestive juices that follow rich French classics, lots of vin rouge and not quite enough l’eu du minerale.
There should be a lot of French gesticulating and arm throwing, along with great gorgeous bowls and plates piled high with all the things you would expect to find in a good brasserie. And let’s throw in a bit of Édith Piaf on the wireless for good measure.
We’re lucky to have some good brasseries in London. Bistrot Bruno Loubet I’m yet to try, but I hear good things. Brasserie Zedel ticks a lot of the above, although I suspect it’s the very splendid setting (typical to a Corbin and King enterprise) and the competitive double-take prices that draw in the clientele more than the food.
A great leap up from this and you’ll find Brasserie Chavot, a Mayfair restaurant only recently wandering into my London dining periphery, despite being open since March 2013 and gaining a Michelin star just a few months later.
The classic interiors are chic and elegant without feeling dated; how you might have expected Coco Chanel to design a commercial dining space if doing so were part of her repertoire. Glinting tear-drop chandeliers and intricate coving adorn the high ceilings. There’s red leather, dark wood, stately structural columns, and an open kitchen. The whole room is adjoined to the Westbury Hotel, whilst maintaining its own street entrance.
Eric Chavot – the gregarious Executive Chef with his name above the door – hails from Bordeaux in France. The back catalogue of his culinary career include stints with a host of highly acclaimed kitchens including Le Manoir au Quat’ Saisons, Michelin star-studded London-based solo ventures, and holding two stars as Head Chef of The Capital Restaurant for a laudable ten years.
He is a chef to the core, with unbridled passion for his craft. Eric revelled in the opportunity to cook a group of us some dishes off menu, landing heavily laden wooden boards and brimming steel pots at the centre of our tables with the flamboyant gesture of a showman proud of his work. And rightly so.
The heirloom tomato salad with Parmesan and pesto was as fragrant as it was a pure pleasure to eat. There was a zippy Strasbourgeoise salad with soft potatoes, the heat of mustard and slices of sausage, as well as a dish of flaking sea bream fillets with raita. Tender octopus with the last of the summer pea and broad bean bounty was especially wonderful with the glass of Portuguese Vinho Verde "Mica". As was the acclaimed signature dish of deep fried soft shell crab with whipped aioli, the crisp and light white cutting through the fattiness of the crab; a continuation of the superb starter theme.
Then there was a fish soup with crab claws, octopus, olives, a deep burnt-orange bisque, hunks of chorizo with smoky heat, and saturated but still well textured crusts of bread. Lamb cutlets with Merguez sausages were unveiled from under the cone lid of a tagine, whilst tender pork and duck arrived with fat and creamy butter beans and exceptionally garlicky - and therefore fantastic - bread.
It all wrapped up with an impeccably boozy rum baba with chantilly cream, a lemon tart and Eric’s take on an Eton mess. And a glass of Pink Moscato; like drinking fizzy fresh raspberries.
“This one is only 5%” Head Sommelier, Andreas, informed us as he filled our flutes with a knowing smile. It takes one of experience to recognise that dessert for this lot requires a toned down alcohol content, considering the copious glasses of Torrontéz, Crozes-Hermitage and more that went before it.
The dishes seemed to taste elevated from what you would expect based on the look and descriptions alone, which meant a stream of coo-ing from one to the next. The whole meal – food, wine and service - was a series of small thrills, which together made for a fabulous experience. And despite some dishes often associated with the heaviness of rich French food and the onset of gout, there was a lightness running throughout.
Eric and his kitchen are turning out refined yet generous and hearty plates of French abundance that feel like a glimpse into what his mamma might have cooked him. It’s not prissy and doesn’t feel contrived, yet is set in impressive surroundings at a very reasonable price point for this part of town.
Despite the accolade, this isn’t typical Michelin fine-dining. That expression ‘cooked with love’ seems to fit here; there’s a side of Eric’s personality with every plate. And a combination like that in London feels quite special.
Liked lots: Eric's showmanship and love for his trade, opulent interiors with accessible and beautiful food, appealing price point for this part of town
Liked less: I'll get back to you..
Good for: impressing dining companions without the need to break the bank; French food that doesn't require a digestion nap after
My rating: 4.5/5
Find the menu on Zomato.
Afiyet olsun.
Note: I was invited as a guest to this restaurant.
When friends gather of an evening to address grumbling stomachs, it’s rare for one to exclaim a desire to ’go for an Austrian’. A cuisine less prevalent across London’s dining landscape, it’s the sort that whilst remaining largely unchartered, tends to evoke responses of ‘Ooh - I do love a good schnitzel.’
So, most of us have an idea of what a schnitzel is - boneless tenderised and breaded meat - and the the part of Europe the term is associated with (mittel-Europe, that is Germany, Austria and the surroundings). But I suspect that’s where a lot of our knowledge of this cuisine ends. Should you have the urge to delve deeper into Viennese café culture and what a menu in one would offer, Fischer’s in Marylebone is a good place to start.
If you’ve wandered into a Jeremy King and Chris Corbin venture before (The Wolseley, The Delaunay, Brasserie Zedel), you’ll instantly recognise the space as one of theirs; they are masters at baroque beauty, early twentieth-century glamour, bustling European-style all-day brasseries, panelled walls and big clocks. The menu partially reflects those in The Delaunay and The Wolseley - the presence of schnitzel, wursts, wieners, ice cream coupes and sachertorte are ubiquitous.
At Fischer’s though, there’s a greater delve into a specific Viennese offering. I had only recently learnt about spätzle - and more importantly, how to correctly pronounce it (shpetz-leh) - at an evening cooking with part-Austrian TV cook Rachel Khoo. You'll find them here, and they’re good. Pasta dough pushed through small holes to make little dumplings, finished in butter and with a generous amount of garlic that I more than agree with (£3 - side).
Chopped liver with sweet rounds of pickles is also very much of-that-region; a well-textured paté served with crisp bread, it’s a solid way to begin (£6.50). Beetroot and goat’s curd salad was as good as those components have capacity to be, assuming fresh and seasonal ingredients - the case here (£8.25).
Not ordering a schnitzel on my maiden visit to an Austrian café would be, I suspect, little short of sacrilege. Couple this with most of social media responding with ‘the schnitzel!’ to my pre-lunch research query of ‘what’s good at Fischer’s?’, and I’m going to order a schnitzel.
And so it was the Holstein or nothing, a huge veal cutlet pounded tender, breaded, and plunged into hot oil, topped with a fried egg, a criss-cross of anchovies and a scattering of tight capers (£21.70). Very pleasant it was, if not hefty, even for me. With hindsight, it seems I was served the large option, and yet I don’t recall being asked which size I wanted; there is also a ‘small’ available for £12.75.
A few other service teething problems were noted. Our starters came before our glasses of champagne, then offered on the house by way of an apology. Another waitress introduced our dessert wines with “I don’t know how to pronounce these - I shouldn’t be working in an Austrian restaurant”, albeit jokingly. And there were additional hints the staff weren’t entirely au fait with the menu. I say teething problems, they’ve been open since spring.
The menu is full of umlauts that are fun to pronounce with your best Schwarzenegger drawl, my favourites being: käsekrainer (pork, garlic and emmental sausage), zwiebelrostbraten (grilled rib eye), marillenknödel (apricot dumpling with apricot compote and vanilla ice cream), and überstürzter (long espresso and belgian chocolate poured over whipped cream).
Try saying those after a couple of glasses of Pommery, or, if you’re the waitress. There’s also an extensive choice of cured fish, salads, brötchen (rolls), sandwiches and biscuits.
For a sweet finish, there was an apple and walnut strudel which I didn’t try but my companion said was pleasant enough (£6.95). The Wien - a towering assembly of coffee and vanilla ice cream with whipped cream and espresso anglaise sitting atop chewy bits of meringue like those found in Lucky Charms - was good, if not confrontational in its challenge to clear it. ‘Finish me, I dare you’ it silently flounced upon delivery - another big portion (£5.95).
Along with the dessert wines - thankfully chosen by someone who knows a lot more about the subject than I (not hard), and who passed wine exams without reading any of the collateral - came a brief lesson on the botrytis fungus and wine fortification. ‘If you’re not learning, you’re not living’, as my old boss used to say. I’m not sure they’re interdependent, but I always liked his ability to inspire.
Whilst one looked the exact colour of a urine sample from a driver caught over the limit, they were both exquisite. Their names: Lieser ‘Niederberg Helden’ Riesling (£10.75) and Trockenbeerenauslese Sämling (£9.50). Probably a point-to-the-menu job.
I’d go to Fischer’s again if I was in the area. I like that it’s an all-day establishment and you’re not pressured to dine on a full three courses; a catch-up over coffee and konditorei is perfectly acceptable and exactly befits the style of the venue. In terms of the food, it’s not ground-breaking but it’s solid; essentially middle-European classics executed well.
With similar formats and some of the signature items also available at The Wolseley and The Delaunay, I’d say that if they’re more geographically accessible (the case for me), there’s probably little need to venture to Marylebone specifically for Fischer’s. But maybe for the spätzle.
Liked lots: the prettiness King and Corbin are so good at; that it's an all-day establishment; attention to design details down to brass bathroom taps and the restaurant logo printed on the disposable paper towels
Liked less: there's a £1.75 cover charge pp between 12-3 and 7-11 which unnecessarily grates - just absorb it in the menu prices; the staff need to practice the pronunciation of those magnificently long menu items and wines
Good for: pretending you're in Vienna; a date, I reckon
My rating: 3.5/5
Find the menu on Zomato.
Afiyet olsun.
Under the interminable throngs of West End slow-walkers and shops hawking tourist tat, beneath the beguiling facade of the ground-level ZL coffee bar on Sherwood Street, you can find a capacious slice of 1940’s Paris that I don’t think everyone knows about.
Hands up, I didn’t.
Brasserie Zédel is a grand dining room and just one part of the sprawling subterranean entertainment offering that occupies this space; it was previously the basement of the former Regent Palace Hotel built in 1915 as the largest in Europe. Behind the venture is Chris Corbin and Jeremy King, famed for their work on the baroque beauties that are The Wolseley and The Delaunay.
There’s also the café, a cabaret room (The Crazy Coqs) and an American bar serving classic cocktails surrounded by splendid gilded and panelled art deco luxe. The latter is straight from a Michael Curtiz film set; I fully expected a slick-haired and bow-tied Humphrey Bogart to sidle on over muttering something about gin joints with a thin cigarette precariously waggling between his lips.
I spent around half an hour in here after having to push back the reservation for my held-up companion. Myself and one other lonely soul flanked opposing ends of the dimly lit bar to a background of swing jazz.
Perhaps we were both waiting for another, perhaps not. He looked wistfully into his bourbon, drawing circles with the glass to the sound of gently clinking ice. I was sipping a negroni and penning some thoughts. The desire to engage was strong, conversation felt imminent.
But any developing force of attraction was severed by the expert timing of my friend's arrival, and that was that. I don’t doubt many a new relationship is forged at that bar over stolen glances and strong spirits.
Straight out of a film, I’m telling you.
The brasserie itself is an ode to the romantic bourgeois ideals we all have of Paris; perhaps sauntering along the Left Bank in trench coats with upturned collars, discussing 19th century French literature, and following it with languorous hours of cassoulet, conversation and vin rouge.
As you descend down the staircase and towards the room, the fading of technology through quickly waning phone reception adds to the feel of transportation to a time passed. It’s an ample space that can seat 220, all marbled and gilded, with lofty ceilings, waiters in waistcoats, and a great statuesque clock at the far end. The menu is traditionally and unashamedly French - escargot, haché, soupe à l’oignon, steak frites, confit de canard, bœuf Bourguignon, crème brûlée, tarte tatin and almost every other dish you would expect to find under the dictionary entry of ‘classic French fare’.
The atmosphere is hugely appealing. Conversation is nicely camouflaged by a din that doesn’t dip much below the rumble you’d expect from a sporting event, without having to shout. There’s no rush to turn tables - the space between our starters and mains was vast because we grazed on them so slowly.
And whilst Edith Piaf herself wouldn’t be out of place serenading the room by the piano with La Vie en Rose and some rolling uvular trills, you get the next best thing in the form of live music each evening. We were treated to a captivating quartet with a horn, clarinet, double bass and an enchanting voice.
And the food? It’s as authentic to a Parisian brasserie as I’ve ever experienced in that it didn't set off any fireworks (Parisian brasseries rarely do), but was solid, consistent, tasty and the price points for such prime real estate are nothing but applaudable.
There was a salad with thin slivers of ruby beetroot, a generous round of browned and warm goat’s cheese and fresh walnuts (£5.25). The chicken liver paté was silky and flecked with crystals of sea salt, served with caramelised red onions and great smashed onto the slices of baguette (£5.95). Steak tartare - whilst not hand chopped - had a good texture, was well seasoned and more than pleasant wrapped between torn bits of the crisp lettuce it arrived with (£8.95).
The Mecredi plat du jour - saucisson and mashed potato served in a metal platter with a good dark gravy - was as satisfying as one could hope from such simple but well executed components (£13.50). And the bœuf bourguignon - a little higher up the price scale - was reflective in its portion size; unfussed, rustic, good (£19.50).
We were within those vaults for a total of five hours, and spent £60 each. Had we not ordered a slightly pricey bottle of wine and stuck to the prix fixe menu of three courses for £11.75, we would have spent a lot less. We retired back to the American Bar where I took my remaining wine and where my dining partner closed the evening with an Old Fashioned.
Brasserie Zédel has only been there for a couple of years, yet has an old-world charm that places it decades before. When you want to dine out, don’t want to spend a load, quite fancy some live music, and didn’t have the foresight to reserve a hot table elsewhere two weeks in advance (they have a lot of scope for walk-ins), this is such a good option.
Don’t do what I’ve done all this time and dismiss the retro red signage and just-off-Piccadilly-Circus location as West End fodder to please the masses. I’m not sure there are many other places in London that can offer such uninterrupted late-night leisure - with that holy trinity of good food, good drink and great surroundings - at such value.
Next time I’ll try not to lose track of time so easily and end up missing the last tube home. Easily done at Brasserie Zédel.
Liked lots: value, surroundings, free live music, the flexibility to start in the bar and carry the tab over to the brasserie, late-night hours,
Liked less: the food isn't sensational, but more than adequate to make for an all round very good experience
Good for: spontaneous dining, taking your time over dinner, dining out and not having to spend a small fortune doing so (unless you want to)
My rating: 3.5/5
Afiyet olsun.
