Tales of a Travelling Tummy: Shinjuku, Tokyo. Beer, Katsu and Roast Chicken's Bottoms

24 Hours into my first trip to Japan and this is probably the first (and maybe only) time in my life that I have felt like Scarlett Johanssen; well her character at any rate. Yes, it's true, I'm feeling a little Lost in Translation. Wandering around the restaurants and izakaya of downtown Shinjuku and,  despite the pictures of dishes and the "helpful" plastic replicas of what your food just might look like, I'm hard pushed to make a decision. Sushi or donburi or udon or yakitori or katsu or one place that seems to serve a raw egg in the middle of every dish? Decisions, decisions. A monster case of jet lag isn't helping matters much by making me feel like I'm trapped in a bubble with a whole crazy new world spinning by outside. Menus proudly bearing English descriptions such as "fried crabs brain" or "fish stomach" make the mind reel;  how big can a crab's brain be and is it really something that should be served on a a nigiri style blob of rice? Am I a total coward for not rushing to try the weirdest thing that I can see pictorially depicted on the menu?

The eerily misty skyline proves its inspiration for　Bladerunner as skyscrapers seem endless as they disppear into the clouds and fog. Walking down a side street my senses are assaulted by the door to a Pachinko parlour springing open to hurl its latest victims back out into the street (a kind of gambling version of pinball). Music blasts out and the open door allows a peep at the rows upon rows of weekending Japanese avidly glued to the flashing machines. Stumbling round and round the endless neon lanes near the hotel, we finally settle on a small izakaya near our starting point, ain't that always the way? My first lunch in Tokyo consists of some little gyoza, more powerful in flavour than their English counterparts, little pouches of pork and cabbage seasoned beautifully, crisp and browned on one side from the frying pan that I can see just through the curtain, spilling grease spots across the liquid surface of the soy dipping sauce that I douse them in. Chicken balls in a sweet teriyaki sauce hold just the slightest bite of chilli with a spring onion and ginger salad. A pork katsu and noodle ramen floats with sliced bamboo and a slightly odd flavour (might not have that one again....)

Dinner involves slightly more exploration, but not much, I'm not that brave yet! Omoide- Yokocho is a narrow, unobtrusive side street off the main Shinjuku thrust full of tiny restaurants, some only just wide enough for a narrow bar and four or five stools. Plastic sheets come down when a venue is full and most of them are. We fix on a slightly larger 5 table venue due to the pictures of yakitori. The shouts of welcome on entry from all the kitchen and waiting staff are slightly unnerving but you soon come to realise that being screeched at on arrival somewhere is a good thing (really!) 

A welcome amuse bouche is served consisting of a small sesame seed strewn salad, tempura of tofu and a really tasty dressing oozing the ubiquitous umami savoury flavour that lights up the taste buds and for which Japan is so famous. Small tasting yakitori sticks of roast mushroom, peppers, tempura octopus and grilled pork ensue. "Chicken tail and roast garlic" is indeed just that, chicken's bottoms on a stick. Kind of tasty though once you get over the fact that you are eating a chicken's rear end. 

A plate of greasy yaki soba fried noodles interlaced with cabbage and pork ups the carb intake washed down with a pint of Kirin beer. Other diners are all friendly, ushering us to try pickled vegetables from their table (much lighter and less sharp than pickled anything in the UK). They wonder at the fact we have chosen to holiday for two whole weeks in the the land of the rising sun, tourism has been on the wane since last year's earthquake and, considering blossom season is nearly upon us, it doesn't seem to have fully picked back up yet. A man next to us attempts to eat a baked potato with chopsticks proving the grass is always greener, here we are looking to eat much loved Japanese dishes in their country of origin and he is struggling with what we consider basic comfort food back at home. A stroll back to the hotel confirms a few Japanese stereotypes. Gaggles of giggling girls queue up outside karaoke parlours whilst a spew of besuited young businessmen stumble out into the street after one sake too many uttering a "sumimasen" (that's "pardon me" to you and me)and they disappear off into the night.

Stopping by a 24 hr 7Eleven for water leads to an accidental purchase of green tea ice cream, its Haagen Daz but not as we know it! Rich in matcha flavour and less sweet than we are used to, its enjoyable and very very green.

Fears about everything being super expensive in Japan are waylaid, although the Yen is incredibly strong, lunch comes to around six pounds each and dinner to around fifteen. Time to crash and burn as jet lag finally takes over. Tomorrow brings another day with a whole host of strange new opportunities.

Travelling Tummy: Harajuku, Tokyo. Sushi, Graffiti and a Dog Dressed as a Leprechaun

The morning of my first full day in Tokyo dawned early, very early. Jet lag struck and had me going stir crazy in the hotel by 6 am.  After a wander from Shinjuku down through the eerily misty Yoyogi Park we found the Meiji Shrine, still almost deserted at such an early hour save for the guests at a beautiful but somber and silent Shinto wedding procession in progress.

Doesnt everyone have a slut that needs fixing?

Carrying on through the back streets  with an increasingly rumbling tummy we stopped at the Ukiyo-e Ota Memorial Museum of Art, which specialises in Japanese art and had a great selection of Hiroshige pictures, before hitting the culture clash of Harajuku in earnest. Popular with teenagers of every which fashion persuasion from Goths to Anime cartoon characters and school girls (and boys!) to wannabe Lady Gagas, the shops reflect the zeitgeist. Graffiti and t-shirt slogans scream out a weird combination of Japanese and English words. Boutiques offer dog handbags and rock t-shirts (£80 for a gem encrusted Led Zeppelin Chihuahua t-shirt?). Basically if you can imagine it (and even if you can't) you will probably find it somewhere in Harajuku. Leaving the back streets to join the buzz of the main Omatesando we were stopped by a Japanese man wearing a green furry hat and jigging around to Irish music emanating from a tinny ghetto blaster perched under a sagging gazebo to avoid the drizzle. He wanted to know a) were we Irish and b) would we be attending the "Grand Patrick's Parade" at 2pm. At this point I'm ashamed to say that I was humouring him when I promised to be back and nodded at his assurances it would be "big, exciting event, lots of people" but was game for a laugh.

This was the best one...

At noon the hunger pangs of having skipped breakfast grew too strong to ignore and being still a little nervous of some of the weirder looking establishments and menus we leapt through the doors of a sushi restaurant on Omatesando to be greeted by our first "irasshaimase" chorus from the chefs. A lunch of sushi, served conveyor belt style from which YoSushi found its inspiration, awaited. The conveyor belts aren't actually as common in Japan as you might imagine so it later on trip I was glad we had hit upon one on the first full day. 

Ok, so it's not gourmet fine dining and more closely ressembles Yo Sushi than Nobu but it was just really nice, honest to god, sushi. So nice in fact that we went back again on our last day. We had to try all the obvious stuff like salmon nigiri etc but also took the opportunity to compare different grades of tuna from the cheapest stuff through to the "toro" fatty tuna. Sounding like a complete philistine for a moment, I admit I didn't really "get" any difference in taste but texture was the main differentiator, the 'fatty' stuff really does make your teeth feel greasy! My favourite plate was a prawn nigiri topped with akin of lightly grilled smoked mayonnaise plus spring onions and roe. So delicious I order 4 portions on each visit.  Ebi Katsu was the only disappointment of the meal as it was a bit soggy despite the prawns inside being a bit dried out and rubbery. I think the rule is, when in a sushi restaurant, stick to the sushi!

I hadn't realised until I was reading up on Japanese food before the trip that a great deal of sushi prevalent on menus in the UK isn't indigenous to Japan (can a food be indigenous or only the animal its made of?!) That said California rolls are now pretty common having been taken to heart by Japanese people who were ordering them in English segued into a stream of Japanese.  In a frivolous holiday mood I ill advisedly opted for a "dessert" of jellies sealed into little space age pods. I'm not sure how to describe them other as rather synthetic tasting (along the lines of what pineapple might taste like if you explained it to a martian who then tried to recreate it in a lab) but they were fun and inexpensive so no harm done. Needless to say they weren't repeated on our return visit.

Appetites temporarily sated we were fanfared back out onto the street by a chorus of  happy cries of thanks and farewell from the sushi chefs, and found our vantage point on the parade route, still slightly sceptical. Sceptical that is, until we met Henry the dog and his owner. Henry was one of an unfeasibly large army of Tokyo based Irish setters and wolfhounds due to lead the parade who had all been dressed by their owners in full on stereotypical "Irish" regalia. I'm talking a doggie fashion parade of leprechauns, kilts and emerald tutus. Some dogs chasing their own tails to bite off ribbon adornments, others going into a frenzy in an endeavour to shake off ridiculous hats and some, well, some just trying to hump the one in front. Canine carnage.

What followed will stay with me until my dying day. If someone had told me that they had spiked my lunchtime sushi with LSD then, frankly, I would have believed them.  When the Japanese do something its not half hearted, if a job needs doing then it needs doing properly. I'm absolutely confident that not even Dublin can boast a St Patricks Day parade like the one in Tokyo. Surreal and, in all honesty, occasionally downright inappropriate, it was amazing.

Our new friend Henry led the parade accompanied by all his dressed up canine mates. A man in an emerald green cloak seemingly depicting an indeterminate Pope complete with cotton wool beard and mitre hat followed on, a group of samurais waved swords in a rather precarious fashion (nope, I'm stumped as to what they have to do with Ireland either) and a group of clearly inebriated teenagers whose only link to the Emerald Isle was a banner depicting their love for U2 shuffled by. This went on for over 20 minutes with what must have been in excess of 1000 people joining the parade.   From the two sets of cheerleaders to the many Irish Bars represented, to the dancing Guinness pints to the Irish Tin Whistle Society of Japan (who were really rather good), I have never cried so much laughing and loved the enthusiasm with which they were celebrating the patron saint of a country nearly 6000 miles away that the majority had most likely never visited.

The first day couldn't have been more of an extreme of contrasts but I loved every second. Japan you're amazing.

Joe Allens, Covent Garden

Despite being located in the heart of Covent Garden's Theatreland, Joe Allens is not somewhere that you are going to happen upon accidentally. Marked from the exterior by only a small understated sign and New York style door umbrella you wonder what you are descending into as you walk down the rather gloomy stairs towards the inner door. JA is the sister restaurant of the same named New York restaurant and is something of a blueprint of the American outpost. I`m reliably informed that when the London outpost opened in the 1970s a New York Style bar and restaurant was a novel addition to London, alas that is no longer the case and, in terms of decor、JA looks tired.

Posters from theatre shows of eons past plaster the walls and many of the restaurants patrons are likely to have trodden the boards in years gone by. Over the last decade I don't think that I have ever been in Joe Allens and NOT seen someone that I recognise from the television or stage. That said it is far from being a pretentious, starry s'leb type of venue.

Many other reviews of Joe Allens don't view the food terribly favourably. Weirdly, considering this is a food blog and I'm a ridiculously fussy about good food, I tend to agree. If you are all about the food experience and want novel, inventive dishes cooked well at a good price then turn around and walk away as this is not for you.  If you want an atmospheric post-theatre fill you up with good company and good wine then stay right where you are. I'd like to be able to report a more diverse selection of dishes from my most recent foray into the Joe Allens menu but alas I cannot because why would you order anything else when you can eat one of their burgers? A, E and I (missing only 'O' and'U') all ordered variations on a theme of burger, cooked medium or done through with either cheese, bacon, none or both. My burger was pretty rare, thick and juicy and of a level of greasiness where it is safest to keep a napkin fairly close to hand throughout. Served with raw red onion rings, plenty of gherkin and a sweet sweet bun, for me its how a burger should be, bun, for me its how a burger should be.

Looking around it is clear that the "secret, off menu burger" at Joe Allens is definitely not secret (in fact they now seem to mention it on their website whilst still referring to it as "secret" hmmmmm). I reckon that around 40% of the orders on tables surrounding mine involved burger.

I'm not a big fan of the super crunchy fries that seem to attract adulation at the moment in cyberspace so the salty skin on fries with a big pot of mayonnaise worked well for me.

All washed down with a perfectly drinkable bottle of Siglo Rioja. Very satisfying indeed. The cocktail list is pretty extensive. Personally no visit to JA can be complete without a "Geronimo", something you definitely need to cry if you even think about ordering more than one. Served in a chilled wine glass, the Geronimo is a mix of vodka, wine glass, the geronimo is a mix of vodka, frangelico and creme de cacao and is a sweet blast of hazelnutty deliciousness, searing your mouth with alcohol and warming the very cockles of your being. Yes, I like it that much.

It would be a crime to write any post on Joe Allens without mentioning the legend that is Jimmy the pianist. His knowledge of the London theatre scene is virtually unrivalled and he loves any morsel of theatre gossip that you may have. Having now tinkled the ivories at Joe Allen's for several decades he counts many friends amongst the restaurant's clientele and his playing is often punctuated by long pauses to chat to any passing actor or actress. Bearing a twinkle in his eye and a viciously sharp sense of humour, no visit would be complete without him.

To sum up, its no gastronomic paradise, but JA delivers exactly what you sometimes need. A late night greasy burger, some good drinks, a friendly face and a tinkling piano in the corner. To utterly misquote the film line that never was; "play it again Jimmy" and whilst you keep on playing I will keep coming.

Breaking up with Ping Pong: Dim Sum Disappointment

Dear Ping Pong,

Sit down for a minute, we need to talk. As I walked from Waterloo station to the South Bank last night I had one of those happy, glowy "I love being a Londoner" moments. Hustle and bustle all around me, Evening Standard under my arm and a sense of purpose in the air. Soft as it sounds I couldn't remember the last time I felt happier with my lot. I even felt momentarily excited about the Olympics. Then I walked into your South Bank branch.

Oh Ping Pong! We were so good together, why did you have to change? Why did you remove all the good things from the menu like the dark coloured prawn and garlic dumplings that actually had some FLAVOUR? I mourn the passing of the wonderful five spice pork crackling which was so amazing and addictive that a friend actually once posted me a portion as a present to my office?! Why has traditional recipe pork and prawn siu mai become the rather drier and crumbly chicken siu mai?
Why have the number of meat-based dim sums diminished exponentially in the last 18 months leaving us with a majority of a) fairly bland prawn, b) fairly bland crab or c) fairly bland prawn and crab?

Why did you employ a supercilious, sarcastic, smarmy excuse for a manager/maitre d' when the old one was so lovely?

When did you start to think that it is acceptable to charge £6.95 for 4 tiny rather dry ribs drizzled with watered down honey liquid? I used to think that every pretty little morsel that I popped into my mouth was a bite of deliciousness but last night found myself thinking "well that was £1.80 per mouthful", was it worth it? And the answer, dear Ping Pong, was a resounding NO.

Don't misinterpret me, I don't hate you, I'm not cross, I'm just disappointed in you and doesn't that always feel so much worse?

Why do you serve weird baby poo coloured liquid described as "lemon and tamarind dip" with your prawn crackers, the flavour of which more closely ressembles Flash floor cleaner than any known foodstuff?

Why has the kitchen service become so erratic that recently the springy gelatinous dumpling casing has melted into a puddle away from its filling like the aftermath of a hydrogen bomb whilst simultaneously welding itself to the bottom of the bamboo steaming basket making removal of the dim sum in one piece an effort worthy of Krypton Factor status? What did I do to you to deserve such treatment, I just don't understand?

Why did you change the sauce on your satay squid by replacing a glorious, thick, peanutty gloop with thin and runny gunk at the bottom of the plate tasting vaguely of something a peanut once nodded at?

Why have a special section on your order form asking me what time I want to be out of the restaurant only to serve the bulk of my order two minutes before you know that I need to be gone (having been there an hour)? I love the idea of you but I'm just not IN love with you.

Why on my penultimate visit did the people sat next to me who arrived at the same time get 10 dishes within 10 minutes and I was waiting for many of the same dishes for over 30 minutes? You said that you were sorry and that you didn't mean it but it hurt nonetheless.

A lot of my blogging friends told me you were bad for me and that I could do better but I didn't listen, I was taken in by your charms. I used to love you, like REALLY love you. Ok, so you have never been a Yauatcha or a Hakkasan but that has never been your market. You used to offer reasonably priced, tasty dim sum served quickly along with a nice cocktail or two. But no more, your star that shone so brightly for me has ascended and crashed, burnt out. But the important thing is the food used to be reminiscent of proper dim sum albeit of a more fast food quality than the big players. Now it has gradually morphed into just a bastardisation of something vaguely oriental with the addition of Har Gau and Shu Mai to keep it moderately "authentic". This isn't the sort of dim sum that anyone on the back streets of downtown Kowloon would recognise and it is deluding and defrauding anyone who sees this is a real dim sum experience. I think maybe we should start seeing other people.

When you started out you were a novelty both in terms of dim sum and fast food. At the time London was comparatively bereft of cost effective quick options outside of the MacDonalds/ Starbucks/Pret model and you rode into town like a knight in shining armour. Now, however, there is a wealth of opportunity and choice in your market segment covering all the cuisines of the globe. Traditionally a good business model would advise upping your game as more competition enters the market, not to bury your head in the sand and cower with your tail between your legs. For god's sake man, don't become the Angus Steakhouse of the Oriental food world! Scrape yourself up, give yourself a good talking to, have some pride and give me my good food back!

On the upside your duck spring rolls are still nice but that's about it. Maybe in time we could try being friends but right now I think we need some space.

Farewell to the Ping Pong of old, you will be dearly missed. A bientot; it's not me, it's you.

Yours, with sadness,
S x

Bar Boulud, Knightsbridge

According to my non-city dwelling Mum there can’t be a recession if a restaurant is packed on a Monday night. I see her point but don’t necessarily agree. To me there are two other possibilities. 1) said restaurant is very good and therefore merits being busy or 2) you are round the corner from the hedge fund Mecca that is Berkeley Square home to bankers who aren't traditionally stereotyped as poor.  Or it could be a combination of both. Let’s see…

Upon entering we were greeted by not one smiling member of staff, not two, or even three but FIVE people. Quite the welcoming committee.  Bar Boulud itself was loud, very loud indeed, mainly due to the quantity of people crammed into the bar area. If a quiet romantic dinner is your agenda either avoid or make sure you get a table in the back room I reckon. It’s also pretty male dominated but for some reason I’ve never found that to be a problem….

I had been wanting to try Bar Boulud for ages having devoured one of my top 5 meals of all time in Daniel in New York in late 2010 but for some reason just hadn't got round to it. Weird considering I had been so excited at the idea of Daniel Boulud's first London outpost but que sera. Decor wise, I loved the wine themed art; stained glass windows in the shape of wine glasses and literal wine stains on blotting paper and the layout of the restaurant stops it feeling too huge and impersonal for such a large number of covers.

Bar Boulud’s menu is constructed  in quite a hotch potch kind of way where sometimes the price seems to be the only way of determining if something is an entrée or a main course- although even this doesn’t necessarily follow. There is also a very wide selection of food on offer, do they specialise in sausages of which there are many options? or burgers? or seafood? or charcuterie? Its a minefield but who cares, its all good. Due to this we ended up ordering quite a lot of food. Most of it pig based.

As a kind of pre-starter or “Little Bite” as they call them, we ordered the Croustillants de Porc- essentially pork scratchings, ears and some roasted crispy pork belly. No pictures this time I’m afraid as my iphone battery had bitten the dust- its a shame as the charcuterie really deserved a picture. The pork scratchings had a five spice/star anise type dusting which was much tastier than I had expected it to be.

We followed this with a large mixed charcuterie platter consisting of "Pâté grand-mère"(a smooth pâté of chicken liver &  pork flavoured with cognac), "Pâté grand-père" (a more coarse pâté including foie gras, truffle juice and port)some jambon de Paris and some other sliced meaty bits and bobs and tiny little onions and cornichons. My dad deemed the ham to be the best he had ever tasted and the Pâté grand-pèreto be excellent which is no slight praise at all coming from a man who spends hours smoking and shooting things (not in that order) and making various pies and terrines.

I had the “Piggie Burger” as my main and never was a dish more accurately named.  Of course two previous courses of pig would be enough for a normal mortal but no, I couldn’t resist the charms of a burger offering a topping of bbq pulled pork.  The burger was excellent on its own, nice and pink inside and oozing greasy loveliness. The cheddar topped bun made a nice change to the recent rash of brioche burger buns (not that a brioche doesn't have a valid place in burgerdom). In all honesty I wasn't getting much flavour in the "green chilli mayonnaise" but this didn't bother me as personally the highlight ingredient was always going to be the pulled pork. Shiny and rich with tangy barbecue sauce, the pork melted in the mouth and would have slid straight off the burger if not secured with a wooden stake.

Despite being a wildly inappropriate side order to have with a burger, I just had to try the truffled mash which at £4.25 seemed like a pretty good deal. It tasted sublime. Nice and truffly and clearly the chef had been following the cardiac arrest inducing 50% potato  vs. 50% butter/cream rule judging by the way it slid from its mini pan in a neat dollop on my plate.

Having protested that I couldn’t possibly fit another mouthful in (and in all honesty probably shouldn’t have) I fell foul of the temptations of the Coupe Peppermint. What was described as a flourless sponge was heavier than the description suggests and essentially a very rich dense chocolate brownie. Don't take that as a moan however as it was deliciously moist and the dark chocolate hot sauce and mint choc icecream were beautiful. Although chocolate based, it was one of the more unusual chocolate desserts that I have eaten recently. It was also the first time in years that I have breached my (admittedly very weird and utterly unexplainable) rule of never mixing hot and cold foods together - call me a freak but normally I hate it.

I really, really wanted to try the madeleines and macarons but even I have some limits to gluttony unfortunately.

There was an excellent wine list at Bar Boulud but I'm afraid all I can remember is lashings and lashings of pig. It was nice wine though and went well with pig.......

Ultimately, if you cook me a meal that involves pig, foie gras, truffles and peppermint chocolate I’m going to be hard pushed not to be happy about it (unless you mix them all together in one dish, that would be just horrid). Would I go back? Yes. Especially as they do a prix fixe menu for £23 for 3 courses at lunch and early doors every day.

So in summary and back to my two options from the opening, was it so busy because its good or because of the bankers? A bit of both I guess but definitely more of the former, maybe those bankers just have good taste!

PS Did I mention that they serve pig?

Casa Brindisa, South Kensington

In my last post I suggested that I thought I needed to eat somewhere truly terrible just to avoid being so constantly and irritatingly sunny and positive. It doesn't suit me. Try as I might I'm more a glass half empty kinda gal (usually because I've drunk it). Although Casa Brindisa in South Ken was far from "truly terrible" it certainly had enough fatal flaws to sharpen my claws on and ensure that I don’t visit again. Probably ever.

Now don’t get me wrong, I really did want to like it and I tried very hard indeed. I love Brindisa. If ever I need decent paella rice, quince paste, chorizo or any other number of Spanish ingredients, their Borough shop would always be one of my first ports of call, however that doesn’t mean that they can automatically use those top notch ingredients to serve up a good meal as V and I found out to our detriment.

Croquetas are one of my favourite Spanish dishes and as such I tend to have high expectations. Although they won't be taking the Croqueta Cup for the best ones that I have ever tasted the ham and chicken ones were good and consequently the highlight of the meal. Nice and light with thin strands of chicken and ham flecked throughout the creamy interior and just being held together by the crispy outer shell. I would have those again.

Beetroot and Picos blue cheese salad with walnut vinagreta had all the markings from the menu description of being very tasty indeed. The individual ingredients were indeed rather yummy. That said the salad had not been very well combined, lacked enough interesting dressing and walnuts seemed added as a sort of "oh bugger they're on the menu so we'd better add them to the plate" afterthought. Not a bad side dish though.

Baked goats cheese was never going to win any beauty paegent prizes and was a bit too sickly due to the honey it had been soaked in after being deep fried. It was quite tasty in a creamy rich sort of way and as a part of a tapas selection but even with my propensity towards rich and sweet food I couldn't have managed a whole one. Perhaps adding something tangy to cut through the sweet cloying cheese may have improved it.

Tortilla: Imagine a balmy summer day, blue skies punctuated by fluffy little cotton wool clouds, sat on a blanket with a bottle of something chilled and fizzy. Wouldn't an accompanying slice of cold tortilla be rather tasty? Contrast that mental image with a window table in a restaurant on one of the coldest nights this winter with other piping hot food on the table, and a cold tortilla is just disappointing. (I did check and it was apparently supposed to be served “between hot and cold” – it wasn’t.) Flavour was added by the presence of caramelised onions in the potato and egg mix but the brown of the sweet onions also had a slightly unfortunate aesthetic effect rendering it not dissimilar to an eve’s pudding mix where the apples have been left out a little too long and oxidised brown. In all though, it was rather hard to detect any distinct flavours in the tortilla itself as someone had drenched the dish prior to serving in olive oil Jamie Oliver stylee. This bath of oil meant that not only did the dish look greasy, but all I could taste was a strong flavour of oil which was a shame.  I’m convinced that had the dish been fresh and warm without the oil innondation it would have been a really pleasant tortilla (although sadly not as good as the one at Tortilla Trophy winners Angels & Gypsies).

Vegetarian bomba. £2.50 giant croqueta of vegetable, breadcrumbed and fried. Nice enough to make it worth its £2.75 price tag.

King prawns with garlic and chilli  The prawns were juicy and succulent with a sweet flavoured flesh although perhaps this sweetness was enhanced by the overwhelming burnt flavour of the scraps of garlic and chilli in the oil that they were sat in. There was no spicy kick to these prawns at all. I'm sad to say that I've inherited a pretty rubbish chilli tolerance level from my father however even when I intrepidly chewed on the burnt, dried out husk of a chilli languishing in the oil, heat effect was minimal. Not even a warm, tingly murmur.

Iberico de Belota Chorizo came served in thin slices and was a very generous sized portion indeed, so much so that half of it needed to be taken home and will certainly not go to waste. Provenance of great ingredients is not in any doubt here. There is, however, disparity in the pricing of dishes; five indifferent prawns for £8.50 or enough chorizo for four for £5.25. Granted the prawns involve more preparation but that chorizo was fabulous! Rich and greasy with just the right bite of smokey paprika, I would have been happy paying the same for a good third less.

Service was quite random, one two occasions the same waitress bought differing trays of someone else’s food to our table and tried to serve it. On other occasions catching an eye became something of a game.

The service lowlight for me, however was when dessert arrived. A slice of almond cake was served sat on top of an ugly smear of orange coloured puree. Rather annoyingly, I’m allergic to a variety of fruits and veg (not great for someone who enjoys food as much as me!) and therefore have to be a bit careful about what I eat so we thought we’d better check it out. Dialogue follows:

Me: “hi, is there any fruit in that sauce please?

Waiter 1: “No, its caramel”

Me: So you’re absolutely sure there is no fruit in there”

W1: “Yes Im sure”

*V proceeds to taste said orange sludge and pulls face- apparently its fruity but bitter*

Me to Waiter 2: “Hello, your colleague said this was caramel but it seems to contain fruit. This is rather important as I carry an epipen and have an allergy to some fruit and veg that can cause anaphyalxia”
W2: “I’m pretty sure it’s a sweet potato sauce”
Me: “Well that would be a problem as I’m allergic to sweet potato”
W2: “I’ll check but sometimes its sweet potato and sometimes they change it….. *disappears then returns*…….Its orange so you’re fine”.

Yes, I understand that those with allergies need to disclose it and I also get that kitchens do change sauces etc but a) I specifically asked what was in the sauce and was told the wrong thing by two consecutive waiters and b) they seemed really unconcerned about the possible ramifications of having given me incorrect information twice until I really rammed it home by pointing out that ambulances taking customers away isn't particularly good for business and can be avoided by ensuring that waiting staff know what it is that they are bringing to the table.

Our other dessert of Turron Mousse with PX soaked raisins was pretty decent and not bad value at £5.50 but more raisins please!

On the wine front the cava that we ordered was nice (my favourite non-committal adjective again). A glass of Pedro Ximenez Verastegui with dessert, however, was unlike any other PX I have ever tasted. Not in a good way either. It lacked the blast of raisiny, syrupy Mmmmmm that I normally look forward to in a PX. My fault really as I should have noted the description of "light in colour" but disappointing nonetheless.

In summary, Casa Brindisa really does have excellent raw ingredients. Their hams are unsurpassable. That said, any idiot can buy really excellent ingredients and put them on a plate, it takes a bit of culinary skill and alchemy to then turn those ingredients into something special and this is where Casa Brindisa just couldn’t make the leap for me. The true measure of value of a restaurant is when the bill comes. I have been faced with restaurant bills for several hundred pounds and not flinched because the meal has been so utterly excellent that I would happily have signed away the rights to any future first born child without batting an eyelid whereas on this occasion all eyebrows were raised in unison at £90 for two as this really didn’t feel like good value at all. Until my visit the name Brindisa had been synonymous with really good Spanish food but the South Ken outpost has not only shaken, but uprooted this belief. They really need to sort their act out if they aren't to damage the brand for the other stores and eateries. on the other hand maybe the brand is to blame, had I eaten this meal at an unnamed tapas restaurant I would probably thought it ok and not gone out of my way to return but I expected more from Brindisa, hoisted by their own petard maybe? Rant over, promise.

PS If you have any suggestions for decent weeknight supper eateries near South Ken tube send them my way!

Kitchen W8, Kensington

Kitchen W8 is a bit of a schlep for me from SW17 and after nearly half an hour winding through the side roads of Earl’s Court I was definitely hoping that Kitchen W8 would live up to expectation with a growing grumbly tummy. If the smiling welcome and warm, friendly service of the staff was anything to go by then I would be in for a treat with the food.

The interior of the main room of W8 is exactly how I would like to have my living room if I had access to an interior designer. Pretty wallpaper and gorgeous silver accessories and lights. It feels more relaxed, homely and welcoming than the more starched austerity of chef Philip Howard’s other London restaurant, the two Michelin starred Mayfair based Square. Perhaps Rebecca Macarenhas' expertise with cosier neighbourhood haunts such as Sonnys in Barnes and Sams in Chiswick has combined with Howard's culinary genius to create a match made in heaven.

Kicking off with a glass of champagne (house bottle is Billecart-Salmon or Francois Diligent for rose) we were brought an amuse bouche of cod brandade balls. The first one was mainly light fluffy potato but the second had lots of flaky fishy flesh. A delicate lemony flavour really shone through and transformed what would have been a pretty uninspiring canape into something delicious. 

A dish of crispy hen’s egg, pata negra ham, truffled lyonnaise potatoes with a hazelnut powder was truly one of the most perfect starters that I have ever eaten. The egg was served halved with the yolk still gloriously runny with a crunchy, dark golden outside. The saltiness of the pata negra cut through the unctuous, rich yolk. The black truffle topped buttery potatoes were little bites of luxury that I was really cross I had offered to share with H. This was a dish that I immediately wanted to recreate at home but know that it won't be a fraction as good. Every mouthful was a sheer delight.

Our other shared starter was a foie gras parfait served with blood orange and rhubarb relish and sourdough toast. Sourdough bread is everywhere at the moment. From those Fabulous Baker Brothers to, seemingly, every restaurant in London it has become ubiquitous. I’m so over it and so are my teeth, too crispy and rough for me. Foie gras parfait is usually the entrée that I would always naturally gravitate towards and this one was nice. "Nice" is one of those words that can mean so many things though isn't it? "Nice" on this occasion means "so/so" tasted good but didn't blow my mind. The texture was extremely smooth and glossy but for me there was a slight bitter flavour to the parfait itself (and not just the jelly or chutney). This was a shame as it made the dish that I had thought would sparkle into one of the only mild disappointments of the evening.

The "near miss" dish that came close to being ordered was a ravioli of oxtail with caramelised onions which I would very much have liked to sample.

We accompanied the starters with a carafe of Anton Braun Gruner Veltliner and a glass of Sauternes respectively. Both were reasonably priced and the Veltliner in particular, a pleasant surprise.  

My main was a steak with smoked red wine butter and. What appears (particularly from the photo) to be nothing out of the ordinary, was a complete revelation. The pink speckled blobs on the steak looked a bit curious at first but tasted absolutely divine. Butter is infused with pellets of reduced red wine and frozen before being smoked over oak chips in W8’s kitchens. It was the most intense blast of smoky sweetness that I have ever tasted in a dish and now I have a sneaking suspicion that no sauce or butter on a steak can ever compare.

Chips were a huuuuge portion (less than a quarter are in the picture!)and served as French fries on the side. H likened them to "Burger King fries at their best" which is apparently a compliment so let's go with it.

In an extravagant mood we went all out on the red wine and ordered a 2004 Chateau Batailley grand cru Pauillac. There is a reason why wines such as this cost the extra arm and a leg but it is so worth it on occasion. Gloriously smooth and velvety and packing a big fat red berry punch, its a Bordeaux that all too easily slips down the throat. The problem with drinking this sort of thing is it leaves me wanting more and preferably as soon as possible. Bordeaux is an expensive habit to get into!

H ordered cod fillet with smoked gnocchi, razor clams and chorizo. Although the cod was beautifully executed, the runaway highlight was the smoked gnocchi. Little fluffy parcels of smokiness that melted on the tongue. Razor clams added taste and texture and the sauce was essentially chorizo based providing rich flavour.

Kitchen W8 offer a comparatively limited but excellent quality cheeseboard. I hadn't intended on an extra course but with a third of a bottle of Batailley left to polish off it seemed rude not to.  Epoisses, Comte, Cropwell Bishop Stilton and Reblochon were duly added to the calorie count.

Dessert of bitter dark chocolate mousse with salted caramel ice cream (that salted caramel yet again!)hit the spot. The black wafer thingies were a bit bitter but the ice cream was delightful, smooth and sweet with a salty bite.  The mousse was delicious but if being hyper critical I would say it wasn't particularly dark or bitter but cocoa heavy enough to sate my palate. Blobs of thyme jelly added a really interesting addition to the dish and lightened the heaviness slightly.

Yorkshire rhubarb jelly and vanilla custard was nice but would never be my first choice of dessert (when there's chocolate on offer - are you mad?!) but H enjoyed it and with the custard it did remind me of the rhubarb and custard boiled sweets in jars in the newsagents as a child.

I completely understand and agree with the importance of using seasonal produce however one of the risks of doing this can be that your menu appears a little repetitive. Rhubarb featured heavily and was an ingredient in a dish option for every course as did blood orange. NB if the ingredient in question is truffle then I have absolutely no problem with repeated use, breakfast lunch and dinner, suits me fine.

I found that the thing that made each of the dishes that I ordered truly sing was the unexpected ingredient that popped out at you, with the steak it was the smoked butter and in the chocolate mousse it was the thyme jelly both of which had an intensity of flavour that really surprised me.

Would I go again? Definitely. One of the best meals that I have had in a very long time. Does it deserve its Michelin star? Undoubtedly in my opinion. Service is excellent and attentive without being overbearing, any fiddly questions that I had about ingredients were either answered knowledgeably or answers sought from the kitchen. I really cannot wait to return

Ok, so that’s two borderline sycophantic posts in less than a fortnight, I’m going to have to go somewhere rubbish just to have something to sharpen my claws on at this rate….