the dairy, clapham common - review

Clapham has played a big part in my adult life - I've worked there for seven years. I've danced on the sofas at Venn St. Records - and set my hair alight in the process. I've snuck into the office after nights out to ascend to the roof and gaze over our spectacular city. I've lived not too far away in recent times, making the transition from north of the river to south about four years ago - Clapham North, now Colliers Wood. And I (thankfully) managed to never make it to Infernos during that time.

But when it comes to Clapham's restaurant scene, there's not a huge amount to get excited about. There is Trinity - recognised as a high-end neighbourhood establishment doing great things with seasonal produce - it’s on my list. Mama Lan does a cracking spicy ribbon tofu ban mein with pickles, and The Rapscallion has served me a very good duck confit with puy lentils and pomegranate before. Down the high street - for couples with a carton of Waitrose wine for the common wearing matching Havaianas, in March (please don't) - a place with Dualit toasters on each table where you pay for the privilege of browning your own bread. And there’s a Byron Burgers opening soon.
Not a great deal of note then, until that was, the opening of The Dairy in March 2013.

Along with a number of other high-end restaurants in London and beyond, Chef Robin Gill and his wife Sarah (commandeering front-of-house) previously worked at Le Manoir aux Quat’ Saisons. They’re from Dublin, now living locally in Brixton, and with their team have created a destination dining experience. It’s put Clapham firmly on the culinary map with one of those flag-pins you stick in a cork-board print of the world to proudly display that you’ve visited somewhere. It's had a similar effect. Until two weeks ago, I worked a five minute walk from The Dairy. I’ve enjoyed brief and exceedingly pleasant weekday lunches there, but they were never the tasting menus and they were never with wine. It’s taken the removal of my daily existence in SW4 and me no longer walking past it each morning to finally secure a visit. The environment is that of conviviality and rustic charm - seating straight out of a 60’s school room, daffodils and rosemary sprigs in simple glass vases, the day’s menu printed on rough brown paper. The crockery is a shabby-chic mix of pretty porcelain, vintage metal, slate and heavy stoneware, with some plates requiring weight behind to shift - the waiters must have some impressive guns. The front half is occupied by bars and stools for off-the-cuff visits (if there’s space) and free-wheeling ordering - expect to fidget as the seats are not the most ergonomic. At the rear you’ll find reservations for more intimate and private groups at the seemingly salvaged tables. We began with a swathe of green - hisby cabbage, crisped cavolo nero, ripe Nocellara olives. House lardo with spring white truffle, wild garlic and crunchy puffed rice stole my nose before my stomach - I stuck it right in and took a long and heady sniff. Several shades of earthy carrot slithers grown in the roof garden came with aerated buttermilk, sweet carrot purée, a small but intense crumbling of pristine goat’s cheese and toasted honeyed nuggets of nutty granola - each mouthful was a thrill.

Bread was broken over the table with the assistance of a knife - a mound of hot-from-the-oven sourdough - the breached crust bellowing puffs of steam. On this bread we alternated between the slathering of house butter whipped up with smoked bone marrow, and the satiny chicken liver parfait. Leave me alone with this scene for the remainder of the evening and I would have left just as happy. The unrivalled savoury pleasure unique to crisped fat was found in the hunks of fried chicken skin with a still soft layer beneath, baby courgettes that had felt the briefest heat treatment, and slippery wild mushrooms. Then there was a compact package of well-cooked seabass, swiss chard and bonito butter, followed by a Pollock-esque arrangement of smoked cod with glossy mashed potato, sparkly orange roe, fresh nori leaves and some sorrel that, for some reason, was overpoweringly fishy and unwanted. 

The 32-day aged Irish onglet with firm cubes of squash and black cabbage had flirted with heat so momentarily that beyond the outermost half millimetre, the flesh was red raw. Not a problem, if the cutlery was adequate enough to tackle this. With nothing sharper in the vicinity than a curved butter knife with no hint of serration (I did ask), I used the tools I was given to tear the meat apart into manageable chunks. It was a challenge to masticate in this form - it needed half a minute longer in the pan. We still cleared it.

An extra £4.50 for a finger of truffled Brie on toast was a pungent, creamy and oozing delight. A clementine segment sporting char from a lick of flames along with a wonderful neutral brown butter ice cream and puffed up rice (like less sweet Sugar Puffs) was really very good. But the salted caramel, cacao and malted barley parfait was better - a dark and rich consortium of all things chocolate should be on a plate; crunchy bits, viscous melty bits, smooth truffly bits, sweet and salty bits. Totally stellar.

To bid us farewell, a vintage tin housing still-warm doughnut balls dredged with hibiscus-spiked sugar, fragile shards of buttery shortbread, and glittering little cubes of sour apple jelly.

The seven course tasting menu for £45 will in fact get you ten separate and perfectly portioned plates of food (including petit fours and other throw-ins received with much enthusiasm). I am yet to find elsewhere in London with this sort of price-point in exchange for the same finesse of kitchen skill, number of courses and quality of ingredients experienced. If you haven’t yet eaten at The Dairy, a visit should be high on your priority list. If you have, I suspect your next is already on the cards. Liked lots: excellent value tasting menu; quality of ingredients; creativity of courses; number of dishes; location - a great restaurant only four tube stops from my house - rejoice; staff; atmosphere and interiors; the bi-fold windows open fully and face the green of the common - perfect for languorous lunches on a warm day. Likes less: - We felt a little rushed towards the end of our meal but were handled very well - we were moved to the bar to make our table free for the next sitting and had to scoff the doughnuts whilst putting on our coats. It probably takes a little longer than 2 hours to work through so many dishes (particularly if the extra cheese course is ordered) and that needs to be taken into consideration. I do think we were there for 2.5 hours though - the perils of booking an early evening reservation.
- They need cutlery with which meat can be cut. - The building always seems to have a lot of condensation - I can imagine it getting a bit sticky towards the back on sultry summer evenings. Good for: romance; affordable tasting menus with no compromise on quality; a reason to venture to this part of town.

My rating: 4/5

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.

a.wong, victoria - review

‘Oh, you’re joking. You are joking. Why didn’t you tell me?’; cue the accompanying dramatic fall of head into hands. This was the response I received from Zeren Wilson of Bitten and Written when I informed him that, upon recently finding myself in the barren culinary landscape that is Victoria, I was stumped as to where I could go for a good lunch.

A quandry easy in which to find yourself in this part of town. During lunch and the commute the streets ripple with pressed-for-time suits, fading to an equally boring lull for the remainder of the day. It has a big train station, a massive bus garage, a few huge glass-fronted offices, seemingly unending runs of Wicked and Billy Elliot at the Victoria Palace and Apollo Victoria theatres, and some not-too-terrible fashion stores. 

By way of places to eat, it’s about as dry as the eastern Sahara: ubiquitous sandwich and coffee chains, Giraffe, Dim T, Yo! Sushi, a Sainsbury’s ‘Market’ (whatever that is) - it’s all underwhelmingly meh. Except, that is, for A. Wong on Wilton Street.

‘A. Wong. A. Wong! You should have gone to A. Wong; it has some of the most innovative modern Chinese cooking in the city. You need to go for lunch, for the dim sum lunch.’ As Zeren continued to lament over my missed opportunity, I feverishly finger-swiped my way through my Google calendar to find a free lunch spot. To reinforce the decision, and by some well-placed coincidence, both Richard Vines and Andy Hayler tweeted about visits in the following days. Bumped to the top of my restaurant hit-list, it was.

The name above the door is that of London-born Andrew Wong, a chef that has travelled and worked in China, and responsible for transforming the old family restaurant (known as Kyms) into the slick, double-fronted, bright-eyed offering it is today. 

The kitchen has moved away from well-represented British-Cantonese cuisine, now focussing on creative dim sum and regional dishes. It is both open and fenced in by a bar propped up mostly by solo diners in for a quick dim sum fix, with the tabled-seating available generously spaced. Each morsel from the 25(-ish) dim sum plates offered at lunch are individually priced allowing for relaxed and unfettered finger-pointing at whatever dumpling takes your fancy. And most, if not all of them, will.

Pork and prawn were delicate siu mai embellished with a light and crispy pig skin hat. Scallop puffs on a beach of pearly tapioca powder looked like burnished-orange flowers mid-bloom, drizzled with potent XO sauce, revealing succulent meat within. Balls of sticky sesame foie gras were so near-perfectly round that on delivery, one duly rolled off onto the table; quickly administering the 3-second rule for fear of a waiter meltdown, they had a pleasing chew but there was little detection of fattened liver. 

Quail egg croquette puffs on scattered crispy seaweed concealed still-runny yolks beneath golden quiffs of light batter, accompanied by a really good and salty ginger and spring onion dipping sauce; one of my favourites. Shanghai steamed dumplings placed on spoons were consumed whole, the thimble of ginger infused vinegar within released in the confines of the mouth - also very good, although the Taiwanese has had them with slightly thinner skins (in Hong Kong).

The unmistakable aroma of a truffle dumpling registered with our olfactory bulbs before the basket reached the table - Yunnan mushroom and pork sporting generous gratings of the black stuff - a touch of earthy and very well-received dim sum indulgence. Crab, seafood and beancurd cannelloni with pickled cockles, whilst a picture, didn’t match the rest of the offerings.

The dandan noodle dish with striking egg-yolk colouring was like an Asian bolognese with a rich minced beef sauce and pickled vegetables; the type of food where, anything less than bringing the bowl up to your lips to sink the last bits of gravy, would be an insult.

Then there was a chocolate sphere concealing tobacco smoked banana, revealed with theatre as the shell disintegrated under the hot soy caramel sauce poured over it; accompanied by a nutty scattering of crumble, it’s just about everything I look for in a dessert. A playful plate of coconut ice cream, glutinous dumpling, apple, pandan jelly and peanut cream came furnished with some candy floss and was too, very agreeable.

I now understand the flurry of recognition associated with A.Wong - not only are the things coming out of the kitchen very good indeed, they’re different. I haven’t had dim sum like this before, and the Taiwanese (who has had a great deal in her time) declared it as ‘possibly some of the best I’ve ever had’. Not to mention that during our visit a photographer from Tatler Magazine was snapping away for their 2014 restaurant guide. With accolades piling up all around, Andrew and his team are set to go places. I’ll be returning for the few remaining dim sum I didn't gobble on my first visit, and that 10-course tasting menu.

Liked lots: dim sum, dandan noodles, desserts, full view of Andrew and team in the kitchen, individual and very reasonable pricing of dumplings, more unusual ingredients, waiting staff, a corker in an otherwise quagmire of poor eateries
Liked less: seafood cannelloni
Good for: great takes on classic dim sum, venturing to Victoria for, business lunches, lunch on a whim (sit at the bar), great bites before embarking on a long train journey, dates, view of the kitchen (sit at the bar)

My rating: 4/5

Find the menu on Zomato.

Afiyet olsun.

soft bread rolls with ham and truffle mustard - recipe

When I find myself hankering for a specific item of food, there is little point trying to occupy my mind with much else until the desire has been fulfilled. Great bread fresh out of the oven, lacquered with a knob of melting butter, topped with a quality deep meaty filling and a slick of mustard, and you have have something close to what my daydreams are made of.

Paul Hollywood has a great recipe for barm cakes (originating from the Northwest) in How to Bake which I've used here, the bread more widely recognised as baps, flour rolls, soft rolls, and so on. They’re compact, hold a filling well and provide more bite than usual loaf bread whilst still remaining soft.

To finish the rolls I’ve stuffed them with quality cured ham, chopped capers and a dollop of indulgence in the form of Maille black truffle and Chablis mustard. Think of a whisp of heat coupled with the unmistakable presence of truffle, creating an unparalleled pairing with the rest of the porky and piquant goodness.

You can find this flavour of the mustard (along with more than 60 new variants) from La Maison Maille Boutique - a beautiful little store situated in the Piccadilly Arcade in the West End, and their first International Boutique which opened this October. This mustard is sold in a stone pot which once empty, you can take back to get refilled.

Soft bread rolls with ham and truffle mustard

Makes 12 - 13 rolls

Rolls

500g strong white bread flour, plus extra for dusting

10g salt

40g caster sugar

10g instant yeast

40g unsalted butter, softened

320ml cold water

Filling

Butter

Good quality ham, ham hock, or other quality meat filling 

(enough for as many rolls as you wish to fill)

Capers, chopped

Maille black truffle and Chablis mustard

Put the flour in a large bowl. Add the salt and sugar to one side and the yeast to the other. Add the butter and ¾ of the water, and turn the mixture round with a wooden spoon or your fingers.

Continue to add water a little at a time until you’ve picked up all the flour from the sides of the bowl. You may not need to add all the water, or you may need to add a little more - you want dough that is soft but not soggy. Use the mixture to clean the inside of the bowl, folding the edges into the middle. Keep going until the mixture forms a rough dough.

Tip the dough onto a lightly floured surface. Knead for 10 minutes, working through the initial wet stage until the dough starts to form a soft and smooth skin.

When it feels smooth and silky, put into a lightly oiled large bowl. Cover with cling film and leave to rise in a warm place until at least doubled in size. This could take anywhere from 1-3 hrs, depending on how the warm the environment is where you put it.

Tip I use a very low oven for this (circa 25C) but you could put it into a warm airing cupboard if you have one.

Once the dough has risen, tip it out onto a lightly floured surface. Fold it inwards repeatedly until all the air is knocked out and the dough is smooth. 

Divide the dough into 12 or 13 pieces weighing around 70g each. Shape each one into a smooth ball by placing a cage formed by your hand and the table and moving your hand around in a circular motion, rotating the ball rapidly. The shape comes with practice!

Put the rolls onto a heavily floured surface and leave to rest for 30 minutes. Cover them with large upturned bowls to prevent them drying out. Meanwhile prepare your baking trays, you will need three. Line them with non-stick baking parchment or silicone paper.

Once rested, roll out the dough balls, using a floured rolling pin, until they are twice the size of the original diameter. Lift onto the prepared baking trays, spacing them apart to allow room for spreading, and sprinkle with flour.

Put each tray inside a large clean plastic bag and leave to prove for about 1hr until the dough has doubled in size and springs back quickly if you prod it lightly with your finger. Meanwhile, heat the oven to 210C.

Tip You can also use cling film to cover the trays but if so, ensure you’ve left no gaps and enough room for the dough to rise without pressing against the plastic too much.

When the rolls are nicely risen, light and airy, bake them for around 10 minutes only until you’ve achieved the same colour as in the photographs. Leave them to cool a little on the baking trays.

Keep the ones you don't plan to eat straight away in a lidded container once completely cool to keep them soft. For the rest and whilst still warm, cut them in half and allow some butter to melt. Add the mustard, layer the meat and top with some of the chopped capers. What joy.

Afiyet olsun.