lyle's, shoreditch - review

It’s been a while since a maiden trip to a restaurant has greatly surpassed what I anticipated from it. Maybe I should set expectations around the same pegging as a Friday night in Church Street Croydon KFC, so as to always guarantee feeling thoroughly impressed with my dinner. But that seems a bit cynical. Regardless, I’m not sure quite what I was expecting from lunch at Lyle’s, but I wasn’t expecting it to be as good as it was.

Not that I had set my expectations low for it, mind. It was chosen thanks to the usual social media buzz that so often dictates where I should try next, so I had an idea it might be good. But in my experience, these aren’t always to be trusted (think Chiltern Firehouse, Kurobuta). 

And I’m never quite sure what to expect from east London. I sometimes wonder if the Shoreditch creatives are simply riding the wave of their location association, facial fuzz and sockless feet, rather than truly being measured on their skill. This is really just a symptom of me being quite ignorant to this part of town and needing to get better acquainted. So, shame on me.

The man behind it is Chef James Lowe who made a name for himself as one of The Young Turks at supperclubs and pop-ups around town, and Lyle’s is his first solo foray, found in Shoreditch High Street’s Tea Building.

First impressions were mixed, leaning towards unimpressed. We had an early booking, so the whole room was empty when we arrived (it filled to full capacity shortly after). “You know what this reminds me of,” I queried my dining companion. “A prison,” came the instant and assertive response, echoing my exact thoughts.

The welcome was exemplary as was the service throughout, but to put it bluntly, the space looks like a poshed up prison canteen. I get the whole pared down, clean-lined Scandi look that so many restaurants go for these days and often execute well, but it doesn’t seem to work here. My interior designer companion - who knows her load bearing walls from her butt joints - thinks it’s the light wood beech against the bare steel of the open kitchen and the polished concrete floor. It’s a harsh look. 

Mercifully, they haven’t entertained those long communal tables otherwise I would have had to ask if this was in fact a social enterprise employing those on temporary release and did I need a CRB check before eating here. And to add to the penitentiary theme, whilst the staff were all glorious, the uniforms of dark blue trousers with tucked in light blue shirts made them look like extras from The Shawshank Redemption. 

But who really cares about any of that when what’s coming from the kitchen is this good.

I’ll start with the least striking dish, and there was one, of beetroot, walnuts and Ticklemore cheese. Order it for the cheese-name novelty, by all means. But the root veg had the same texture as the ones you can buy vac packed, and the cheese was a little too inoffensive for my palate (£7.50).

Onwards with the rest of the spread, which was all effortlessly splendid. Scottish chanterelles sat in a little pool of thin savoury broth, scattered over and concealing a gooey egg, with onions and wild fennel blossom. A spectacular umami bowl I’d scoff any time of day (£7.30).

Then there was a ‘blood cake’, essentially the glorious soft innards of a high-end black pudding, gently spiced, an exquisite texture, with a smattering of pork scratching nuggets, dark purple pickled chicory and blackcurrants. It was stellar (£6.30). 

A great hunk of Dexter rump with a beautiful crust, the flesh surrendering its juices with a little pressure, was a complete joy between the teeth. I have found myself wondering why the hell I ordered the beef whilst masticating one mouthful for a full five minutes many times before, even at high end restaurants. But not here; it was the nicest bit of bovine I’ve had in ages (£16.50).

Then there was the grouse liver, sweetcorn and hazelnuts. Despite it looking exactly like something a cleaner would throw sawdust over on Platform 4 of Leicester Square station on a Friday night, it was sensational, and not at all what I was expecting. 

A sort of liquidised liver, distinct with the unique flavour of game but not yet too strong as it was just the start of the grouse season, with crisp sweet kernels of corn and crunchy nuts. There are few things that please me more then when something reads scary and looks worse, but tastes incredible. Fortune favours the brave; always try to order at least one thing you think you won’t like - you might be just as pleasantly surprised (£5.90).

Treacle tart was a neat cuboid of sublimely spiced pleasure, with a big ginger hit and a neutral and delicate milk ice cream (£5.90). Then there were cherries with a cherry granita, crumble and an ice cream made from cherry stones (who even knew you could do such a thing), which lent some nuttiness to the dessert. It was totally great (£6.50).

A point to note, the wine list focuses on natural tipples which seems to translate to them being a bit pricier than I’m use to seeing so close to the start of the list. But there’s plenty available by the glass and carafe, so do gambol through it by all means. 

Lyle’s was a surprise and a revelation. Things aren’t quite as they seem here, but what they turn out to be are all the superior for it. There’s a sense of excitement around what you’ll get presented in front of you, as the menu gives little away and the kitchen is clearly bursting with creativity. There isn’t a better opportunity to experience this than in the evenings with their set eight course daily-changing menu that offers no freedom of choice; I bloody love being told what to eat. 

I’ve already secured my return visit for dinner. I might don some bright orange overalls.

Liked lots: kitchen innovation; exciting dishes; exemplary service from our Antipodean waitress - she was great; the no-choice evening menus - I know it's a divisive topic but I really like them (when the cooking is this good)
Liked less: those staff uniforms..
Good for: interesting Scandi-influenced dishes big on British ingredients

My rating: 4.5/5

Find the menu on Zomato.

Afiyet olsun.

mele e pere, soho - review

There are so many establishments in London dishing out plates that look like they belong in the results of an ‘Italian food’ Google image search - a mass of spaghetti with a generic sauce plonked on top, sporting a pair of perky basil leaves. ‘Italian’ food, as many people know it - by which I mean a bunch of stock pasta and pizza options - is so often the default offering chosen by restaurants, as dishes are deceptively simple and hot carbs with cheese will always please the masses. But it’s also very easy to make them mediocre, or worse still, poor. And a lot of them do. Not to mention these places do little to represent the far-reaching range of regional Italian cooking - it’s not all spag bol and carbonara made with cream *shudders*.

So thank goodness for the very good places in town that do truly represent the variety and quality of Italian food - the likes of Bocca di Lupo, Zucca, Locanda Locatelli and now also, Mele e Pere.

Occupying a prime location on the corner of Brewer Street and Great Pulteney Street in the middle of the dining hotspot that is Soho, the heart of Mele e Pere (“apples and pears”) is found below ground. Continue down a flight of tiled stairs - past the few tables, window bar-seating and mirrored wall adorned with glass apples and pears upon entrance - and diners are greeted with an impressive copper-topped bar and a large yet restful dining space.
My companion was someone who knows the restaurant and the dishes well, so I said that thing that is either well-received or slightly aggravating in this situation; “I eat anything, I’ll leave the ordering to you - whatever you think is good”. The reply to which was, “Well, it’s all good”. Dammit.
“But we must get the smoked swordfish carpaccio. And the aubergine parmigiana. Because it’s gorgeous. And the potato gnocchi with truffle - god, that’s really good. And the vitello tonnato”. This was going well.

Before I could prioritise that day’s menu according to which words I wanted to eat the most (they were coming out level-pegging, an unhelpful case of “all of the above please?”), a plate of three fresh-from-the-oven pillowy focaccia buns appeared, their aroma heavy with olive oil, sporting hats of pesto and something cooling I think was crème fraîche (£2.50). Shortly after, deep-fried ascolana olives stuffed with a little heat and served still warm, simultaneously crisp and ripe (£3.50).

Then a plate of partially translucent mackerel tartare with crunchy baby radishes and bergamot; there was a punchy hit of mustard in the mix and piquant pickled cucumbers to cut through the flesh*. It agreed with my oily-fish sentiments entirely: the best way to enjoy them is raw. A complete pleasure. A third plate - quenelles of chicken liver parfait with wine-poached pear, little mushrooms, Italian leaf and a bright yellow pansy - was something I wanted to photograph as much as eat. Velvety, rich and cooling pâté, sweet fruit, sprightly leaves. Another solid entry*.
The swordfish carpaccio bore the colour of a girl’s cheek after its first peck from a boy; flushed pink and with batons of vibrant crisp radishes and cornichons standing to attention - it was delicate and delightful (£6.50). Vitello tonnato is a Piedmontese antipasto of thinly sliced veal covered in a mayonnaise-like sauce, bolstered with capers, anchovies and lemon - all great things that cause the tip of the tongue to smack the roof of the mouth (£6). And then there was the aubergine parmigiana with pesto - a glorious mess of smoky aubergine mush, stretching cheese and sweet tomato meeting in a piping-hot melty mass of what can only be described as unadulterated out-of-the-oven pleasure (£6).

*No individual prices as both were from that day’s pre-theatre menu of three courses and a glass of prosecco for £18.

And the potato gnocchi glowing from saffron with generous shavings of pungent Umbrian black truffle? Well, there’s little point trying to evade it. You know you want it and if it’s there, you will order it. And once it arrives, you’ll be its prisoner until the bowl is clean. There’s probably only five ingredients involved, and the beauty is in its (luxurious, decadent, buttery) simplicity (£7.50 for the small portion).

There was no room for dessert. Even my second stomach - usually reserved for sweets - let me down. I was defeated, by what was a very good lunch; I’m happy to take a beating like that any day.

Mele e Pere has daily changing menus: lunch specials at £8.50, pre-theatre set menus of three courses with a glass of prosecco for £18 (both with entirely different dishes to the a la carte), the option of small or large portions for pasta, substantial mains and a bar specialising in vermouth. 

With such lovingly-prepared and well-executed creativity from Head Chef Andrea Mantovani available at very accessible prices, this is the restaurant card to keep in the back pocket and pull out when - well, whenever.

Liked lots: gnocchi, focaccia, aubergine parmigiana, mackerel tartare, location, prices, creativity
Liked less: the main dining area being without natural light
Good for: frequently changing menus, frequent visits, all occasions, quality food at affordable prices, vermouth (so I hear - must return to try some)

My rating: 4/5

Find the menu on Zomato.

Afiyet olsun.

Note: I was kindly treated to this meal by the restaurant thanks to their relationship with my companion.

the 10 most hated foods of the nation

Last month a poll was conducted ahead of an event taking place prior to the G8 summit in Northern Ireland, to drive global action to reduce hunger and malnutrition. A group of 2011 British adults were asked to list the foods they could not or would not eat. The majority of the entries that made the top ten most detested food items reads to me less of a culinary hit list and more of a fabulous tasting menu (albeit a slightly misguided one with the combination of ingredients). This list doesn’t just consist of food I like to eat, it consists of food I actively seek out on a menu and order over other options. This list comprises of some of the most sought after ingredients available to the culinary savvy, providing the centre piece to incredible dishes and dining memories. Allow me to extol the virtues of these fabulous morsels and perhaps help change the opinions of a nation.

10 - Marzipan

The smooth and thick paste like confection that is marzipan comes in at number ten with 26% of the vote. It is comprised of sugar, egg and ground almonds and is most commonly used as a base for the icing on a Christmas or wedding cake. Marzipan can indeed sometimes be too sweet and an aversion to melting teeth is understandable. But if it’s the almond flavour in general that is disliked by the nation, then this is an opinion I, and most of Italy, would find difficult to swallow. Both the riciarelli and amaretti biscuit are made with the same key ingredients of almonds, sugar and egg whites and are almost ubiquitous in their presence perched on the saucer of a strong coffee throughout Italy. If the flavour of sweet almond is something you’re not yet accustomed to, try knocking up a batch of these easy biscuits and start from there. Either that or pour yourself two fingers of Amaretto (Italian almond flavoured liqueur) and initiate yourself the ballsy way.

amaretti biscuits - a flavour of sweet almond similar to marzipan

8 - Olives

In at number eight are olives, the humble collection of green and black oval appetisers found at the start of restaurant meals across the land. According to the results, 33% of British adults would leave well alone and instead probably fill up on bread. Being half Turkish Cypriot, I don’t ever recall a time when I haven’t discreetly been popping out stones between pursed lips at a meal. If a Turkish meal doesn’t contain olives, then it’s not Turkish. Hell, it’s barely even a meal. And the same goes for other Mediterranean countries each with their own range of olive offerings – creamy and mild Spanish Manzanilla olives; firm, meaty, earthy and green Italian Cerignola olives; large black Greek Kalamata olives; and the list extends considerably further. It’s worth spending a little extra for olives that haven’t been brined beyond recognition as I suspect it’s the taste from this process that causes a lot of the hostility. Look for regional olives from a decent deli and give them another try, I implore you.

7 – Blue cheese

Blue cheese pongs its way in at number seven with 34% of the votes. But surely everyone salivates at the sight of mould inflected produce that smells of sockless hipster feet in loafers at the end of a hot day - no? Its presence on this list is not a surprise to me as our ingrained biological instinct is to have a natural aversion to blue food, especially if it is accompanied by a heavy and tangy bouquet. A developed palate is needed to enjoy the pungent pleasures of blue cheese but if the taste can be acquired, it is entirely worth it. Perhaps start with milder offerings such as Danish Blue or Gorgonzola until you’re ready to work your way to the middle ground of Stilton. Then one day you may even find yourself enjoying the potent pleasures of Roquefort. A little goes a long way - enjoy thin slithers perched on water biscuits followed by a sweet seedless grape chaser.

6 - Sushi

Sushi has made a splash at number six with what to me is an incomprehensible 37% of the votes. Forget polls, surveys, or the ‘cool foodie’ associations this far-eastern food item might have. Hands down, Japanese cuisine is in my top three favourite cuisines the world has to offer, and it’s one I could solely eat for the rest of my life (although the lack of dairy would hit me at some point). There are many components to it, with sushi (parcels of cooked rice with other ingredients such as egg, vegetables, cooked fish and raw fish) and sashimi (thinly sliced and spanking fresh raw seafood) being just a couple of these. There are few things more delightful than rigor fresh seafood, bright and firm, seasoned with soy and accompanied by the temporary but intense nose-busting hit of wasabi. A perfect example of fresh ingredients stealing the show with little if any interference. Never buy pre-packaged sushi from supermarkets. Do venture to a well-reviewed establishment and introduce yourself to sushi and sashimi the way it was intended. If you’re feeling particularly extravagant, pop over to Tokyo to enjoy a 15 minute slot of silent eating after a one month waiting list to sample a piece of 87 year old Jiro Ono’s offering – universally acknowledged as the best sushi chef on the planet. The privilege will set you back upwards of $300. But then his octopuses are massaged for 45 minutes prior to slaughter..

5 – Black pudding

If the thought of eating blood sausage turns your stomach, you are part of the 39% of the population with similar sentiments. Regardless of what deep-rooted experience or ingrained belief renders black pudding an issue for so many, if these qualms can be overcome there is a lot of deliciousness to be savoured. I recently indulged in a high-end Full English breakfast from Hawksmoor in Seven Dials, purveyors of some of the best meat on the market, and it was in fact the black pudding that was my favourite thing on the plate – a beautiful soft texture and wonderfully seasoned. Alternatively, seek out Spain’s equivalent (morcilla) and the presence of the smoky sweet heat from pimenton (Spanish paprika) may be enough to entice you. Source, slice and fry for a traditional tapa. Give it a go.

4 – Tofu

Tofu is such a quiet and unassuming ingredient that it’s difficult to see why a whopping 42% were adamant they would not eat it. Tofu is made from pressing the curds of soy milk into soft white blocks; granted it has the potential to be an uninspiring and bland slab of sponge. But it’s the properties of this sponge like form that can make it a winning staple; cook it with exciting and vibrant flavours and all of the seasoned goodness will be absorbed and permeate. Tofu is the blank canvas of the culinary world, ready to showcase any flavour you throw at it. Try the fried tofu with Chinese mushrooms noodle soup from Mama Lan in Clapham Common for an excellent example of them crispy, packed with flavour and swimming in a deep and spicy broth. 

fried tofu with Chinese mushrooms noodle soup - Mama Lan

3 – Anchovies

Do you like Worcestershire sauce staining the bubbling grilled cheese on your toast? Of course you do. I’ll bet you didn’t know anchovies are a key ingredient in it. 45% of those surveyed are against the idea of the small, salty, silver sea water fish. It seems the staples of the Spanish cuisine get a bit of a battering in this survey; the best tasting anchovies are the Engraulis Encrasicholus (EE) species found in the waters around western and northern Spain, Portugal and the Mediterranean Sea. Anchovies are as much of a seasoning as they are an ingredient. If the strong flavour from whole preserved fillets is too much to handle, try mashing some in a pestle and mortar along with grated garlic and olive oil. Heat this mixture in a pan until the fish flesh has disintegrated, then add cooked spaghetti and coat in the oily mixture on a low heat – serve immediately with parsley and lemon. I challenge anyone to not enjoy it in this format.

2 – Liver

As soon as I spot on a menu chicken liver parfait, pâté, mousse, or any other ‘way’ in which chicken livers can be treated, there is little point in me eyeballing the remaining offerings. These concoctions spread on crisp thin toast with a sprinkle of thyme are outstanding bites. I recall being overcome by an intense craving for chicken livers one lonely night in university halls. I promptly procured a tub, fried them until just tender, doused them in lemon and ate a whole plateful with crusty bread. The texture of gently fried chicken liver is soft, smooth and crumbly and the flavour is even better. Other liver such as calves can be richer and heavy with the taste of iron, so should the 46% who do not care for it wish to initiate themselves, start with the milder chicken offering. If gristle puts you off, visit a butcher and request they leave you with nothing but the glossy pink brown meat for you to apply heat to. Sensational simply with lemon.

my homemade chicken liver pâté - a staple around Christmas

1 – Oysters

The Marmite of the sea-swelling world, it’s no surprise they top the list with almost half (47%) of those questioned claiming they could not or would not eat them. Once dismissed as simple peasant fare, the oyster is now held in the highest regard as one of the finest tastes available for those able to appreciate it. My first two experiences with these bi-valved molluscs were underwhelming and mostly consisted of a gum line full of grit with a grimace. For an experience akin to churning torrents of the North Sea deluging your immediate dining vicinity and engulfing everything in its path with an invigorating saline slap across the chops, try the Wright Brothers Oyster and Porter House in Borough Market. Juicy sweet meat, wonderful texture and as fresh as if the sea were through the back doors and the oysters had been plucked out just a few moments prior. Any qualms I previously had about oysters were atomically blasted out of existence on my first visit.  Forget tales of slimy flesh and stories of launching them down the gullet to avoid any real interaction with the meat.  Instead find a reputable establishment - eat them fresh, raw and naked.  Chew, savour, and delight over these alien looking wonders.

a dozen rocks from Wright Brothers Oyster & Porterhouse

9 – Liquorice The observant amongst you will notice the omission of the ninth listing further up the post. I thought I’d save this one until last, as it’s the soul entry I agree with. Yes you heard correctly, I agree with it. I am definitely part of the 28% of the population who listed it as a food they would not eat. The only flavour I have come across in my relatively far reaching tales of eating that I simply cannot endure is that of anise. Catch just a whiff of it and I feel my throat closing as it prepares its defences. A bag of liquorice All Sorts is my idea of hell and they look as horrific as they smell – black consumables with unnatural and luminescent pink, yellow and blue colouring. Who does this appeal to? Being Turkish, my dad is partial to the odd glass or two of Raki, the Turkish equivalent of the better known Greek Ouzo, a white aniseed liqueur mixed with a dash of water to turn it cloudy. As soon as the bottle cap is unscrewed I make my excuses and swiftly depart the scene. I once purchased a whole pot of glistening fresh olives from a deli counter only for them to be stealthily scattered with fennel seeds, too many to pick off individually - the (rather expensive) pot of olives was soon abandoned. The level of aniseed I can handle is that of dill (so, extremely mild), which incidentally, I absolutely love. So there we have it, my counter argument to the nation’s declarations of distaste. Liquorice aside, my conclusion is the whole country has gone mad and I’m the only sane person left. That, or society hasn’t give these items enough of a chance. It turns out that most of the time we decide what we like before we even bother to experience it, and this prejudice clouds our perception of what we actually encounter. So the moral of this story is cast your first impressions aside, as sometimes they’ll be wrong. Instead, embrace new experiences, textures and flavours and give yourself a good dozen goes before you write something off completely. I best join my dad in his next glass of Raki then. *barf*
Do you agree with these results? Do they contain any of your favourite foods? What are your most abhorred flavours? Do let me know your thoughts!
Afiyet olsun.

This article can also be found on the Your Local Guardian website.