Propping Up the Bar: Merchant's Tavern

Merchant's Tavern has, for a wee while now, been the talk of the town. Angela Hartnett's put her name behind the place, and none other than the indomitable Thomas Blythe looks after the front of house. If ever there was a more snazzily dressed manager, I'm yet to meet them. 

We visited on a Sunday afternoon, that awkward time in between lunch and dinner. I wouldn't describe the space as what one might traditionally call a tavern - that, for me, brings to mind a lot of gloomily lit room decorated in dark wood panelling, tankards of mead on offer - but instead an airy, banquette-lined spacious bar, opening to a dining room lit by skylights. 

We perched on stools by the bar, facing a fridge full of cured meats, dangling tantalisingly. One of us sipped on an absinthe-laced cocktail, while the other nursed a 'Dr. Henderson the Younger', heady with Fernet Branca and gin. My eyes widened a touch at the pricing on the main menu, and instead we decided to graze on the bar menu. 

Pigs head and veal kremeski (sic) - a well posh croquette yes? - were plump fingers of perfectly crisp, liberally seasoned slow-cooked meat dribbled with a tarragon mayonnaise. Served in a little copper pot, they were just the thing I can imagine were deceptively time-consuming to make.

We further tested the skills of the fryer with blisteringly hot cauliflower spheres, the cheese-stuffed middles eager to ooze from its carapace. They were how I'd like all my cauliflower cheese from now on - intense creamy brassica flavour. Haddock fish fingers came with a tartare sauce so deliciously tangy it was hard not to just eat it all up with your fingers... as you can see.

We took a well needed vegetable break, and the Little Gem lettuce, braised and dressed with brown shrimp and pickled cucumber was the ideal foil for all the richness we'd indulged in. The pickled cucumber took the thinly shaved ribbon form and was unexpectedly but pleasantly sweet. Fat, amber prawns (top pic) whiffed of freshly fried garlic, spiked through with chilli. Their bodies, de-shelled were eagerly swiped through the aioli, though the juices sucked from their heads were a little on the bitter side.

Then, the main show/heart stopper arrived. Ogleshield and ham toasted sandwich might, on paper, sound rather dull. But we knew that to charge £8 for a toasted sandwich it had to be something special, right? So we ordered it, and it was amazing. Thick, soft bread fried until crisp in what I suspect was butter was stuffed with cheese that surely must've been mixed with bechemel, it was so rich and luxurious. The ham was substantial; thickly cut, proper ham. The sweet-sour pickles were a palate-cleansing necessity, the Picpoul de Pinet helping it along a bit. It's the best toasted sandwich I've ever had. We rounded off our indulgence with a perfectly wobbly vanilla-flecked custard, topped with boozy prunes. 

Avoiding the so-perceived costly dining room menu in favour of the bar turned out to be a vain attempt, as we faced a £50-a-head bill. 

Merchant's Tavern

36 Charlotte Road
London EC2A 3PG

020 7060 5335

Hot & Sour Mustard Green Soup

The humble mustard green, also known as gai choy in Cantonese, is a vegetable you normally see preserved in pickle form. The Vietnamese eat them pickled with dishes like braised catfish hot pots, or braised caramelised pork belly; basically any rich, salty dishes. The Thais eat it on the side of Khao Soi (a rich, coconutty curried noodle soup) amongst other dishes. The Chinese often stir fry them, and in particular the Sichuanese pickle the knobbly bit with chilli, so that it looks like an alien.

When fresh though, it's quite the different beast. Unlike spinach or watercress, this is no wilting wallflower - it holds itself robustly, and stands up well to a long simmering. Don't let the name fool you; it's not really that mustardy. Slightly bitter and grassy-tasting, it's often made into soups, and the hot-n-sour treatment is as good as any. 

On a lazy evening with a little time on your hands, it couldn't be simpler. Simmer some pork ribs (or use pre-prepared, home-made stock), add some flavourings, and simmer it all together for a while. Leave the chilli and tamarind out for a cleaner-tasting, comforting broth-like soup, or do as I did and ramp the flavours up a touch. 

I used a lot of things I had floating around in the fridge, as you tend to do after a big steamboat session which is really my new, favourite Sunday lunch. Fish balls went in there, along with a few cubes of freshly fried tofu. Carrots, roll cut so that they made a decent mouthful lent a sweetness. For a more substantial meat you can have a bowl of steamed rice on the side, to soak up some of the flavoursome broth. Anything you like really; just had those greens and the flavourings. 

Hot & Sour Mustard Green Soup 

Serves 4

200gr pork ribs, cut into lengths about the size of your thumb (you can ask your butcher to do this) 

1 head of mustard greens (from the Asian supermarket), washed and cut into bitesize pieces

1 small onion, peeled and sliced into half moons

2 carrots, peeled and roll cut

A few slices of firm or freshly fried tofu, blanched (optional, but tasty)

A handful of fish balls

2 cloves of garlic, minced

1 inch piece of ginger, minced

2 large fresh, red chillis, chopped finely

2 tsp tamarind puree, or dissolve a small block of tamarind in boiling water and drain

1 medium tomato, chopped roughly

1 tbsp light soy sauce

A few sprigs of coriander

Cooking oil

Blanch the pork ribs in water, so that all the scum floats to the top. Drain and rinse the pot and the ribs well. Heat a little cooking oil in the pot and fry the onion, garlic and ginger until soft. Add the chilli and fry for a little while longer, then add the ribs. Cover with tamarind water or the tamarind puree along with 500ml water or stock. Add the carrots and cover, simmering for half an hour. Add the tomato and the mustard greens and simmer for another half hour, stirring every so often. Add more water or stock if it's looking too busy in there. Add the tofu or fish balls if using and simmer for another 10 mins. 

Taste and add a little sugar to balance out the tartness of the tamarind. Add soy sauce to taste, garnish with coriander and serve with steamed rice for a more filling meal. Have a bowl to hand to catch those little rib bones. 

Pick n' Mix: Part 6

Pick n' Mix fell by the wayside somewhat but we're back on a roll with a smearing of butter. London's seeing several new restaurants opening at the moment, and Foxlow was one I was most excited about. From the team behind Hawksmoor, it's styled as more of a neighbourhood restaurant (I wish my neighbourhood was Farringdon...) and has a more casual vibe. I was invited along to their preview and the menu reads like a mash-up between Hawksmoor and Pitt Cue, with a lot of smoked meats on offer, as well as their usual steaks.

Crispy five pepper squid (£7) had the ideal crunchy exterior and tender innards. Garnished with tiny rounds of sliced lime, it was poshed-up salt n' pepper squid, accompanied with a ginger-spiked mayonnaise. Just the phrase 'baby back Iberico ribs' (£8.50) danced at you from the menu, wiggling their seductive hips, whispering "eat me" until there's nothing you can do but order them. They didn't disappoint; a sweet glaze covered the plump ribs, which crucially kept some bite. For me, there's nothing worse than floppy rib meat, you know the type; the stuff you can slide bones out of without disturbing the plate. I have perfectly functioning teeth, thank you.

Ten hour smoked beef short rib with kimchi (£16) was a hulking beast - excuse the photo, the lighting was... atmospheric. Often beef rib can be hugely fatty, but this was pure slow cooked meat. Flavoursome and smoky, the tart fermented cabbage was mandatory every few bites to cut through the richness. We actually asked for a little more. Monkfish was cooked in the Big Green Egg, a ceramic smoker made famous by the likes of The Smokehouse. The result was that the fish took on a delicate flavour of charcoal, but with the tenderness of it cooked to just-there.

Sides are never a sideline with these guys, we opted out of the salad bar (there's a salad bar) and instead went for bacon-salt fries, tenderstem broccoli with chilli and anchovy and sausage-stuffed onion (all between £3.50 - £4.50). I'm sad to say the onion, stuffed with mace-heavy beefy sausage, defeated us but we demolished the rest like a flood of locusts. Salted caramel popcorn and caramel bourbon soft-serve pushed our already meat-high brains into the sugar crazed territory. In short, I loved Foxlow.

Foxlow
69 - 73 St John Street
Clerkenwell
London EC1M 4AN

Burger & Lobster have set up shop on the fifth floor of Harvey Nichols. I fully expect it to be completely rammed as surely the ladies who lunch would get stuck right in to lobster rolls. They give you a buzzer if there's a wait for a table, and this way you can get on with your shopping and swan over to your table when summoned. I used the opportunity at the press preview to try the burger; beefy, well constructed, cooked to medium as requested - all ticks from me. But I'd never choose a burger over a lobster, made even more evident by the lobster roll and grilled lobster we also shared. I felt a twinge of guilt when I glanced over at their forlorn faces in the lobster tank as I left. They also mix a mean martini.

Speaking of Harvey Nichols, the Pizza Pilgrims' van is also on the 5th floor for the winter. Two internal walls were taken down to get this beast in. I'll be completely transparent here - one of the Pilgrims' is my boyfriend so you can take this at face value... but I wouldn't go out with someone who makes bad pizza so, you know, it's ace.

I was invited to an evening of pickles at One Leicester Street which was hugely exciting, given what a pickle fiend I am. Chef Tom Harris talked us through all their homemade pickles - salt pickles, sweet pickles (quince is a revelation), and sauerkraut-esque fermentations.

They also make their own hams, and a Middlewhite belly and tongue ham with sour cabbage was a particular favourite (above). Pig's cheek ham with celeriac and mustard showed how the marriage between rich fat and sharp vegetable works so well, and a smoked gamey duck breast, pink and tender, showcased the sweetness of aforementioned pickled quince (below).

We finished off with a brown sugar and honey tart; so obscenely wobbly and delicately made, I near-destroyed my piece filming this masterpiece. I enjoyed One Leicester Street hugely; Tom's passion for ingredients and skills he invests in his chefs to make their own pickles and hams is inspiring. Having retained his Michelin star after St John Hotel (where he was awarded it) closed, he's clearly got a lot of talent.

One Leicester Street
London WC2H 7BL

In a fit of hypocrisy, I went along to Manchester on a friend's invite-to-review both of Simon Rogan's places. I can't defend it - he needed a companion and I'd never been to Manchester before. That's me in Manchester's Chinatown, that is. We arrived at The Midland Hotel at around 9pm, wowed by its grandeur (and the next day, by the pool and gym). In contrast to The French, Mr Cooper's House & Garden is Rogan's casual restaurant; I had wondered if we would be seeing said gardens, but turns out it refers to the decor. Part garden shed, part leather banquette, it was an enormous place. The menu is a mish-mash of ingredients from other cuisines - I spotted wasabi, tofu and chorizo all in the first minute.

Chicken wings with pomegranate molasses were deboned and served on a tangle of 'sepia' (squid ink, then?) noodles. With an attractive glaze, they were a little too tart for my palate, but juicy and full of chicken flavour. For my main, the monkfish, mussel, and potato romesco was probably the least adventurous, ingredient-wise. But it was light and pretty, not overly daunting for a meal that late in the evening. Creamed kale and spinach with bacon sounds like my vegetal dream, but was disappointly salty. Rhubarb and custard, studded with dramatic black sesame wafers was a palate-cleansing, refreshing end to the meal.

I liked Mr Cooper's House & Garden well enough, but it didn't blow my socks off like The French did. You can read about that here, if you so wish, and my pictures are here. I suspect the ox rib tartare (above) with coal oil may well be one of my most memorable dishes of 2013.

Mr Cooper's House & Garden 
The Midland Hotel, 
Peter Street,
Manchester M60 2DS

Lastly, the Plusixfive Cookbook is out and it is a beauty. Packed full of amusing anecdotes, great pictures and quirky drawings, it's also got a recipe in there from me for cocktail sausage buns, a Hong Kong classic. You can buy it here. Do. It's lovely.  

Posh Breakfasting: Quo Vadis

The payday Posh Breakfasting continues strong into Month 2 and our chosen venue was Quo Vadis on Dean Street. Headed up by Jeremy Lee, I've been only once for dinner, though I've wobbled around their upstairs bar more times than I'd care to admit. 

A deathly hush greeted us when we arrived near opening, at 8am. Comfortable banquettes, plump cushions and white linen table cloths exude an air of luxury, and we were the only diners there for the duration of our visit. The menu isn't an extensive one, and actually looks more suited to those with sweeter tastes than mine. Coffees were strong and smooth, and the 'Kipper' at £7.50 was ordered. 

And that's exactly what turned up. A kipper, warmed on a plate. We were asked if we'd like bread with it - toasted? Fried? - and a few toasted slices of sourdough arrived for 2 of us to share. My friend's fry up arrived with, peculiarly, an enormous bundle of watercress piled on top. 

My kipper was... very nice. Probably the best kipper I've eaten. Plump, smoky, salty. A wedge of lemon wouldn't have gone amiss. 

When we got the bill, the toast offered came up as £4.50. I dunno. It seemed over the top. Does anyone eat kippers without bread? That smarted a bit. 

EDIT: Quo Vadis got in touch to make amends, as it turns out we were charged £4.50 in error - sourdough, fruit manchet, a slice of plain, a slice of rye, with homemade jam, honey and butter is £4.50, toast and bread is usually gratis with the kipper.

Quo Vadis

26 - 29 Dean Street
London, W1D 3LL

A Tale of Two Dim Sums

Not so long ago, I achieved the dream schedule - a double dim sum weekend. Unlike, say, the roast dinner, it's completely achievable to do this. Dim sum is the ultimate variety meal and often no two sessions are the same. 

The venues in question couldn't have been more opposite to each other. Dragon Castle is a stalwart; a great big place on the unlovely Walworth Road, under the shadow of Elephant and Castle. Often bustling on a Saturday or Sunday lunchtime, it's sparsely occupied in the evenings. I often meet friends there for an informal dim sum brunch; cheap and cheerful, the dim sum dishes are on a colourful laminated menu. Tea is slopped out of teapots to passing cups, and the waiting staff are perfunctory.

The usual suspects are on the menu; sticky har gau, dense and meaty siu mai. We usually order far too much of the fried stuff (in particular, prawn cakes wrapped in beancurd skin are a favourite) and they usually have some rather more interesting dishes to the uninitiated. My most recent visit involved chicken's feet - served cold, de-boned so you can chew gleefully through flappy goose-pimpled skin, dressed in chilli and sesame. I know. I'm really convincing you, right?

But they also have a decent range of cheung fun, that slippery sheet of rice noodle wrapped around a variety of fillings, drenched in a sweet soy. Not all of their dishes are a total success - fried dough wrapped in cheung fun can sometimes be a little stale, but with prices like theirs, it's hard to complain. 

They often have interesting specials, like the cubes of turnip cake, stir-fried with spring onions and beansprouts. Crisp on the outside, gooey in the middle and studded with tiny chunks of Chinese sausage. Incredibly moreish, dipped in a little chilli oil.

So we usually stuff ourselves silly, get the dim sum dishes cleared away, and as is tradition, finish up with a plate of noodles. Beef ho fun for me please. I've never paid more than £18 a head for the food, tea and service. It's nothing fancy - it's a stuff-yourself-silly slayer-of-hangovers kind of meal. I won't make the mistake of cycling home after that lot again.

Dragon Castle

100 Walworth Rd  
London SE17 1JL

Hutong couldn't have been more different. I wouldn't traipse through the place dragging my cycling gear behind me. Up the Shard, the view is breathtaking; perhaps more so in the daylight, for London isn't a city of twinkling sky scrapers and actually it's nice to see those landmarks we have. 

I was invited to the launch of their dim sum menu and we kicked off with some pan fried dumplings, some with vegetable and bamboo pith, others with minced lamb. So far, fairly unusual but executed well, with crisp bottoms and soft tops.

Rose Champagne shrimp dumplings were a posh take on the har gau, and a curious pink they were. Though I couldn't detect the champagne flavour, they were pretty orbs and well made, bouncy juicy prawns within and light dough encasing them. This was no ordinary dim sum.

As was evident with the crispy shrimp rolls with thousand year egg. The pastry encasing the prawns and a hint of the fabled century egg was light and greaseless, topped with sesame seeds. The surprise lay within, with a little pickled ginger throughout - actually a classic condiment with preserved egg.

Another dumpling not often done well in your local dim sum joint (at least not in London) is the siu long bao - the Shanghainese soup dumpling. These little bad boys must be left on the spoon (which has a little black vinegar in) for just long enough to cool, before you shove it in your gob and pop the dumpling, a flavoursome broth filling your mouth. While not up to the stellar heights of Din Tai Fung's (which you'd expect, given the latter specialises in them), they were certainly the best of its kind I've had in London. Often these examples are overly doughy in their desperation to hold their broth, but not here. Mine just about made it to my spoon with their precious, porky filling. 

Desserts are classically flavoured; we love our black sesame, and these squidgy numbers rolled in peanut were elegant and delicate. 

Washed down with Pu'er tea (one of five types you can choose from the menu), this dim sum experience was a rather more refined affair. There was no spinning of the lazy susan repeatedly to stuff as many dumplings in your face - no, this is where you savour every mouthful, marvelling at the quality of it. It's also a cheaper way to dine at Hutong. Their evening menu can be prohibitively expensive, so this is a cheaper way to get the full Hutong experience. Undoubtedly the dim sum is more expensive (we had 10 dumplings / morsels, plus a shared soft shell crab dish, tea and service which would have been £30 a head), but you pay for quality. 

I can't say which I preferred, if there is one to prefer over the other - the two are incredibly different experiences. But then, like I said, no two dim sum meals are really the same. 

Hutong

Level 33, The Shard  
31 St Thomas St, 
London SE1 9RY

020 3011 1257

Dunne Frankowski at Sharp's

Dunne what? At where? I kept seeing Instagram photos popping up on my feed of a trendy coffee shop tagged at this location and I didn't take much notice as really, I don't take much notice of coffee. Then my friend Ed wrote about it here and I realised it wasn't just about coffee, but toasted sandwiches too. Who doesn't love a toasted sandwich? Show me them and I'll shun them appropriately. 

So, what with it being a 5 minute walk from my office, I strong-armed Ed into meeting me there for lunch. There's a barber shop out back and a cavernous, rather dark space with a simple bar. Huge chrome coffee machines and a few grills for toasting sandwiches is the sum of its parts. I ordered a meatball, cheese and pickled fennel toastie (£4.50) and we went outside to sit on their bench. 10 minutes later (for they are made and toasted from scratch) our sandwiches arrived and though my meatball number was flavoursome, cheesy goodness, the sharp tang of pickled fennel saying "HELLO! I'm here!" and working rather beautifully with the pork, I'd set eyes on Ed's Stilton and kimchi version (opening photo) and was immediately jealous. I lightly cajoled him into swapping his other half with me and I'm glad my bullying tactics worked because it was a winner. Kimchi and Stilton on paper sounds like a flavour sensation, perhaps overwhelming, but it wasn't - it was perfect. 

We finished up with a greengage and custard tart that actually I bullied Ed into making for me, and only got a little disheveled in its bike ride. So really I'm just teasing with that photo as they don't sell them at Dunne Whatchamacallit. 

It's just dawned on me that I wasn't very nice to poor Ed. But at Dunne's, the bread is sourdough, the cheese is posh, and these guys sure as shit know their pickles. They are really very good. 

Dunne Frankowski at Sharp's  

9 Windmill Street, 
W1T 2JF

Salt n' Pepper Cod Cheeks

I spent a week during the summer in the glorious sunshine, utterly miserable. That we even had a summer was a surprise to all of us, but blue skies abounded and I sat in the garden, working from home and on my tan. The misery came from having torn every ligament in my left ankle from a drunken trampolining accident. I was housebound, a support boot strapped from foot to knee. I managed to crutch myself down the road to Lordship Lane before I realised that if I were to buy any more than one item, I wouldn't actually be able to hold anything and hobble myself home at the same time. I made the most of it; Moxon's were had cod cheeks on sale and I decided to deep fry these silky nuggets. They cheered me up some.

Salt and pepper squid is one of my favourite bog-standard-Chinese dishes. It's not easy to get a really decent version - often, they're covered in a thick, tough batter without the hint of spice the decent ones hold but when done well, they're addictive, the chilli building up with every mouthful. I like them crisp, light and greaseless. Applied to cod cheeks, these required just a dusting of flour, a brief frying in oil to keep them light and moist. Anything more cumbersome tends to slip off the flesh like a jacket, dismissed at the bottom of the plate. 

Biting into these cod cheeks is far different from squid (obviously) - they don't have the resistance against the teeth like squid do, but rather the flaky loveliness you get from a fillet of firm, white fish. Liberal use of Sichuan peppercorn in the dusting gives them a hint of lemon, a tingling of the lip. The double-cooking method of deep frying and then stir-frying with chilli give it that extra oomph.

Salt & Pepper Cod Cheeks 

Serves 4 as part of a multi-dish meal

A large handful of cod cheeks
5 level tbsp of potato flour - essential for extra crunchiness
1 tbsp Sichuan peppercorns
Hefty pinch of white pepper
A few grinds of black pepper
1 tsp salt
2 large red chillis
1/2 a red onion
A wedge of lime
A couple sprigs of coriander
Vegetable oil, to deep and stir fry

Toast the Sichuan peppercorns in a dry frying pan, then grind to a fine powder. Mix with the potato flour, black and white pepper and the salt. 

Heat the oil (enough to cover the cod cheeks) until a breadcrumb sizzles vigorously. Meanwhile, slice the red onion into half moons and slice the red chilli into rounds. 

Line a rack with kitchen paper. Dust the cod cheeks well in the flour mixture, and then fry, taking care not to overcrowd the oil as it'll make it drop in temperature. Fry for a few minutes, turning over now and again. Be careful, as they're quite delicate. Remove and drain on the kitchen paper. 

Pour away all the oil but 1 tbsp (if using a wok) and stir-fry the red onion briskly, until just softened. Add the red chilli and the cod cheeks, and stir-fry very carefully for a few seconds. Turn out onto a plate, decorate with coriander and a wedge of lime, and serve immediately.