brasserie zédel, soho - review

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.

cava and tapas at copa de cava, blackfriars - event

I like a glass of fizz as much as the next person. But I’ll be the first to admit I know little about the intricacies and variations of wines - oenology (yes, I had to look that up) isn’t quite my bag. That said, when it comes to bubbly I know what I like the taste of and I’m always willing to learn. Couple this with a deep-set appreciation for a plate (or nine) of quality tapas, and the opportunity to attend a cava tasting evening with complimentary Spanish bites reads as a perfect way to spend an evening.

A handsome bare-bricked subterranean haunt situated just a minute’s inebriated stumble from Blackfriars and brought to us from the team behind Comino (upstairs), Copa de Cava is the UK’s first restaurant and bar dedicated to that very quaffable Spanish sparkler. They stock an impressive range of 29 types of cava and have devised a menu (different to Comino) to compliment each one. I’m very drawn to the idea of whiling away a few hours over their tasting menu with a different glass for each dish; "here is my money, bring me everything that is good". 

Here’s that learning bit. All cava is made using a traditional method of fermentation in deep underground caves and tunnels (similar to the process for making champagne). It’s not a quick job, but does result in the range of complexities that can be found in this wine. There are ten grapes from which cava can be made, all of which are indigenous to Spain (apart from the Champagne grapes Chardonnay and Pinot Noir), and 95% of cava comes from Penedès in Catalunya in the North East. 

Then there’s the aging; a Brut has done so for a minimum of 9 months and will be fresh and light, a Reserva has laid patient for at least 15 months resulting in richer and more structured aromas, and a Gran Reservera is the mature Grandaddy of the lot with a minimum of 30 months under its belt.

Behind the science lies the proof in the eating (and drinking) - how did it all taste? The overwhelming response to which is, good. Very.

Gobstopper-sized Gordal olives dressed with lemon zest, rosemary and a splash of cava vinegar came paired with the Vatua Colets Brut; crisp and balanced, this glass works well as an aperitif and with light dishes. 

The dry and delicate qualities of the pink Raventós í Blanc de nit Reserva 2010 (a combination of red and white grapes) made best friends with the plates of pan con tomate (toasted rubbed with roasted garlic and spread with tomatoes, olive oil and salt) and cured meats that busied our searching fingers.  

Glasses topped up with the smooth and rich Conde de Haro Brut (Rioja) coincided with three tapas dishes. Abalone mushrooms that looked like fat slabs of foie gras were substantial and earthy and elevated with garlic and chilli. The tortilla was deconstructed, playfully served in a glass with a bottom layer of fluffy crushed potato topped with an egg mixture similar to a Benedict sauce - I had two. The patatas bravas were also in a novel format, potato-roll bites filled with the spicy tomato brava sauce - I had many.

Then there were hunks of stonebass and prawns denaturing in a bath of lime, chilli, onions, coriander, and with a flourish of corn kernals. A stellar dish, the juice of which I sunk from two bowls after the meat had gone, the salt burning winter-chapped lips and the sourness aching the gum line. God, I love ceviche. With this, a creamy and zesty Raimat Gran Brut Dominant.

Roasted peppers and aubergines with anchovies and onions perched on crisp sheets of pastry accompanied a dry and grown-up glass of Mont Marcal Reserva, and alien-looking octopus tentacles covered in suckers and paprika and as thick as a baby’s arm looked a picture but could have been softer. But it did marry with the olive oil mash and a fresh and tangy glass of Albariño (Mar de Frades Brut Nature) extraordinarily well.

Iberico pork shoulder was tender and still glistening pink at the centre, the creamy pearl barley a touch too al dente. And then there was one of my favourite steak tartare encounters - unveiled beneath a glass dome with captured smoke, the flavour imparted onto the meat. With the crisp shreds of fried potatoes and a sip or four of an intense and elegant Reserve de la Familia Gran Reserva, this was a winning course.

Little dark chocolate truffles filled with white chocolate mousse accompanied La Rosita Brut and as if we hadn’t been swigging quite enough cava, Richard the owner generously cracked open a stunning bottle of rather special Kripta, Gran Reserva Brut Nature.

If my maths serves me correctly - and let me tell you it’s difficult to count beyond the fingers of one hand after this many bubbles - we sampled ten different cavas that evening, with top-ups for each. I make that a lot of glasses. Inebriation aside, this is just the sort of place that appeals to me; somewhere that focuses on one thing very well, with a lot of good food to go with it. Do visit.

Here are some blogger pals who also attended, check them out: Matt - The List, Wilkes888, The Faerietale Foodie, The Cafe Cat.

Liked lots: location, interiors, specialising in one very lovely type of lubrication, novel takes on traditional tapas
Liked less: the headache the following morning
Good for: letting experts guide you on what to enjoy with what

My rating: 3.5/5

Find the menu on Zomato

Afiyet olsun.

Note: I was invited as a guest to attend this event. Many thanks to Sauce Communications and Copa de Cava for organising.