Weeknight-Friendly Duck Ssam

I love any kind of Ssam dishes. Ssam means 'wrapped' in Korean, and was most famously introduced to the masses by Momofuku of New York. Typically, it takes the form of lettuce wrapping rice, meat, kimchi and sauces. David Chang's recipe for Bo Ssam marinates and pretty much cures the pork shoulder in sugar and salt, roasting it low and slow with a final sugar rub into the pork fat and a high blast, rendering the fat crisp and sweet. It is incredible, but it does take the best part of two days and quite the occasion to warrant it.

I've always loved this way of eating. Sang choi bao is the Chinese version, often made with minced meat and piled into rigid Iceberg lettuce cups. You get all the textures; crisp fresh vegetable, rich meat flavours. The all-in-one mouthful.

When I had a friend come for dinner on a Friday night, I set out to recreate my favourite meal in an easily doable space of time to still be hospitable. It worked a treat. Duck breasts were slung in a marinade of mirin, soy and sake for the duration of preparing the other ingredients, roughly half an hour. The marinade itself was utilised afterwards, as a sauce for the glass noodles to soak right up. Duck being a very richly flavoured meat, benefitted from a mint, coriander and jalapeno dressing along with my favourites of ginger and spring onion sauce, and kimchi. A lovely combination of flavours, one we customised to each mouthful.

Duck Ssam

Serves 2 generously

2 duck breasts
2 tbsp light soy sauce
2 tbsp mirin
2 tbsp cooking sake
1 inch of ginger, grated
1 clove of garlic, grated

Mix the marinade ingredients well, and place in a shallow bowl. Place the duck breasts into the marinade, meat side down. Try to keep the skin dry.

1 head of Little Gem or a small butter lettuce, leaves separated and washed

4 stalks of spring onion, minced
2 inches of ginger, minced
1 tbsp cooking oil
1/2 tsp sherry vinegar
A hefty pinch of salt

2 tbsp store-bought or your own kimchi in a bowl

A small handful of mint leaves, picked off the stems
A larger handful of coriander
2 green jalapenos
A hefty pinch of salt
A squirt of lime juice

30gr glass noodles, soaked in hot water until softened, then drain

Whizz up the mint, coriander, jalapenos, salt, lime juice with 1 tsp water until you a smooth sauce. Place in a bowl.

Add the ginger and salt to a heatproof bowl and heat the cooking oil until smoking. Pour over the ginger so it sizzles a lot. Add the spring onions and vinegar, and mix well. Set to one side.

Dab the marinade off the duck and dry both sides. Salt the skin and then place in a cast iron or non-stick pan skin side down, then place on the heat. The key to a good, crisp duck skin is starting it from cold. Gradually heat up the pan, rendering the fat out, and checking frequently. You can tilt the pan and spoon some of the accumulated fat over the meat side, but you may need to remove some too as duck is super fatty. Do this until you have a rich, golden brown skin, then flip. Fry on the meat side on a medium-high heat for around 3 minutes, pressing it down for even contact. Remove immediately and place on a plate to rest for 15 minutes.

Drain the fat out of the pan, then add the leftover marinade and bring to a bubble. Remove from the heat and add the glass noodles, constantly moving them around to soak up the marinade and prevent from sticking in clumps.

Slice the duck breast finely and place back over the noodles to serve with the lettuce, sauces, and kimchi. Assemble the perfect mouthful with a lettuce leaf, some glass noodles, a slice of duck and whichever sauces take your fancy. Serve with napkins.

Portland, Fitzrovia

Tuna tartare with salmon roe & seaweed crisps

It's not often I visit somewhere four times without writing it up; I obviously like it a lot to keep going back, especially with the number of restaurants in London that I have yet to try. Portland, situated just north of Oxford Circus, has quietly impressed and fed me for a couple of years now. I've been there for many occasions; my father's birthday dinner, a boozy leaving lunch, a work lunch, and a lunch just 'cos. One must lunch.

Truffle & Gruyère macarons

Razor clams

The menu starts with snacks, usually irresistible, and often a little startling in flavour; a true amuse bouche, really. On my most recent visit even before the snacks we had cheesy gougère pastries, warm from the oven, which popped in the mouth to reveal molten, luxurious cheese. White truffle and Gruyère macarons are really clever; mushroomy, sweet, balanced into savoury by the cheese. Raw razor clams are chopped up and drizzled with kimchi and wild garlic oil, to be slurped down in one. It's never nothing short of a delight. 

Salsify

Lobster sabayon

Beautiful crockery showcases the most incredible ingredients, treated just with the slightest teasing of complementary flavours. Last Autumn, a creamy, cheesy, almost a carbonara-like dish of salsify with crisp cured ham comforted us, like a soothing hug on a plate, carbonara-like in flavour. Now that we're coming into Spring, lobster in a sabayon-like sauce, light and luxurious, was heaving with al denté verdant vegetables. Their menu changes daily, reflecting the seasons and the produce that comes with it. 

Portland is pretty much perfect to visit as a party of 3, since they offer 3 choices per course. I'm not one to opt for the vegetarian offering though, especially not if the Specials board lists Challans duck glazed with maple syrup, confit duck, foie gras and grilled pear. It was £30, which isn't a trifling amount, but also came with the most stunning salad I've had, and unfortunately did not document pictorially, I was enjoying it so much. It was made up of crisp vegetables, fresh peas and finely shaved pear all tumbled together, to shine through the richness of the duck. If I'm honest I'd have done away with the confit duck; it didn't add much to the party. 

Sides are often superfluous but I usually enjoy them; on our latest occasion roasted cauliflower was far too cooked, and fell apart into a mush. But I've had gorgeous cheesy potatoes in a fluffy, creamy sauce which made me glad I had the space for them. Desserts are always inventive; pumpkin, blood orange, and meringue I originally veto'd but our server was horrified for us to miss it, and he was quite right. Look how pretty it is! A hazelnut eclair was light as air, pretty as a picture. Chocolate with beetroot and blackberries last year was the absolute epitome of Autumn, deep and earthy, lightened by sweet chocolate mousse. 

I'm a great fan of Portland. I never fail to have a really lovely time there; they make me feel like a grown-up, and on a special treat. The prices do too - it's not cheap, or affordable enough to be done regularly, but it is good value for the level of cooking and the quality of the produce. Quite an important distinction, that. The service is helpful, especially with the wine list which I'm told is rather special, and warm and welcoming. On the second time I visited I was startled into wide-eyes when my waiter chimed "welcome back!". It felt nice to be remembered, homely even. 

Portland
113 Great Portland Street
London W1W 6QQ

Tel: 0207 436 3261

Noma, Copenhagen

When my friend told me he'd secured a 4-top table at Noma, in Copenhagen - you know, only the Most Famous Restaurant In The World Because It Might Be The Best Ever - and would I like to come, I immediately said yes. I immediately booked myself on some cheapo flights over to the Danish capital, for what would be certainly the meal of a lifetime. Anticipation built up, and I had to keep reminding myself not to go in with too high an expectation. It must be difficult to be a chef at what has been, for several years, lauded as the number one restaurant in the whole world. People traverse countries, seas, continents to dine there. It's difficult enough catering for people with all sorts of tastes, associations, preferences, but even more so with the added weight of expectation. 

It's been a long time coming, this post. Indeed, my companions have already written their (wildly differing) take on it. As can only be expected for such a well-regarded restaurant, the menu was long, the bill high. Upon reflection, I actively enjoyed 10 of 20 courses. That's not a high hit rate. But I don't regret any of it, not even the £308.12 bill. Let's delve deeper. This will take some time. Bear with me. 

Fermented plums and wild beach roses

As we approached for our 12pm reservation (12pm! How positively American of us) we barely got through the door before a chorus of chefs and front of house staff bellowed welcomes at us, relieving us of coats, guiding us gently to our table and placing a glass of fizz before us. It's a slick operation; receive, seat, get the booze in quick. We looked like rabbits in the headlights. Of course we will have the wine pairing, nice man! Get that 'juice pairing' out of my sight. 

We soon realised that every course is presented to you by a chef from the kitchen. They are mostly men. They are all incredibly handsome. As I contemplated the first course I wondered if I would be dumbstruck like a blushing schoolgirl for the wrong reasons throughout the meal. (Yes, is the answer.) Anyway, the pink disc placed before us was horrible. I took an eager bite, and my mouth was awash with astringency, floral pickledness and I bloody love pickles, let me tell you. I took another bite just in case, but no. There was something medicinal about it. I struggled to finish it. One of the staff glanced over with concern, eyebrows furrowed. My companions loved it.

Beet tartar

Never mind, moving on. Beetroot tartar consisted of roasted beets shaved very thinly, topped with ants - ANTS! Dead ants! - which are supposed to have an intense citrus flavour. I tasted bitter, astringent pickled herb. I felt like I'd fallen face first into a mound of soil. I pushed it around for a bit, listened attentively to the lovely Rene Redzepi telling us about... something. He looked at my unfinished course. I looked at it. Then I looked at my hands. 

Apple marinated in aquavit

Sweet joy and relief was this disc of pressed apple, marinated in Scandinavia's favourite booze and topped with pine and something miso-like. Sweet, boozy, savoury, pine tree frozen delight! I gobbled it down with relief. 

Oland wheat and virgin butter

Delicious was the warm spongy wheaty bread with butter I could have slathered on anything to get more of it in me. Phew. Things were picking up. 

Cabbage leaves and white currants

Isn't this dish a beauty? It was a sight to behold, almost too beautiful to destroy. The bowl had been painted green with parsley, with a steamed cabbage leaf balanced in the middle. A fragrant, cleansing white currant broth melded all the flavours together without an astringent-pickled-herb in sight. 

Green shoots of the season with scallop marinade

The most beautiful man in the world (probably - there were so many they now meld into one) brought the next dish over, and explained to us that a scallop 'fudge' had been smeared over the plate, upon which a variety of vegetables lay. Some were raw, some were roasted to crunchiness, some simply steamed. I loved this; I gathered up the contrasting vegetables onto my fork and swooped it through the caramel of the seafood. I can't name a single one of those vegetables I'm afraid. 

Grilled onion

Not just a grilled onion. Positively blackened, so that the skin was tar-black. Thyme leaves nestled inside to make the onion taste a bit like gravy. It was sweet and oniony. That's all I've got for you. I probably shouldn't go to Hedone anytime soon.

Sea urchin and walnuts

Do you know where the Faroe Islands are? No, me neither. I thought they sounded quite Caribbean when Rene was telling us that this is where the sea urchin, reportedly the best and the sweetest, is sourced. So I spent the rest of his time explaining to dish to us wondering whether we'd get some sort of pineapple dessert too. The walnuts were like I've never tasted before; none of that dusty bitter staleness, they were fresh and juicy, crunchy yet slightly bouncy. And the sea urchin was the sweetest I've tried, mixing into a creamy sauce. I thought it wonderful. The Faroe Islands are off the coast of Norway. (You knew that, didn't you?) 

Sliced raw squid and kelp

I love raw squid. I love the sliminess in the mouth, I love the bouncy resistance against your teeth as you eat it. I loved this. The creamy sauce with the squid and kelp came together to create an almost caramel flavour, likened universally by the table to Caramac. 

Mahogany clam

I also love clams. When this was brought to us, our chef proclaimed proudly "mahogany clams can live for hundreds of years - this could have been around when Queen Elizabeth I was alive!" All I could think was dear god why are we eating this poor creature. It wasn't up to much. A bit fishy, and really chewy - as you might imagine from an ancient clam. The samphire powder didn't taste of much that I could discern. I felt a bit glum about this one. 

Monkfish liver

We were several (very nice) wines in so I had to pee (sorry) but as I got up to go I was surrounded, with pleas for me to sit back down again. I obeyed and it soon became clear, for our next course was monkfish liver, frozen and shaved incredibly thinly atop a delicate cracker. It looks like jamon, doesn't it? No. It's a clever dish, as each wafer is so cold there's almost no smell to it, but thin enough so that as soon as it hits the tongue it starts to melt and release its flavour. There's a reason monkfish liver is often called the foie gras of the sea; it's rich and creamy, luxurious. Another one I enjoyed a lot, once I could get my head around eating frozen fish offal. 

Pumpkin, caviar and barley

This pumpkin disc was compressed so that the purest sweetness of the vegetable shone through. I used to be a pumpkin avoider and I'm still suspicious of its pulpy sweetness, but this was very enjoyable, mostly I suspect down the the walloping great big quenelle of caviar. The barley cream had a toasted flavour and balanced out the sweetness of the squash. 

Egg yolk, potatoes, nasturtium

This was one of my favourite dishes. Fudgy egg yolk, pouring into the vaguely green-tasting sauce, with discs of waxy potato to soak it all up. Probably one of the most straight-forward in flavour. 

Vegetable flower

By this point, after so many pleasing dishes under my belt, I had been lulled into a false sense of tastebud-tingling security, which made the betrayal of the vegetable flower all the more poignant. It was beautiful, with a shiny surface, dotted with ...bits of stuff. I took a relaxed bite and every part of my brain screamed at me to spit it out again. It tasted of carbon and petrol, harshness and garlic, acetic and hateful. I had to gulp wine to get it down, out of my teeth. I don't know who sent the alien replacements to this Earth to dine with me but they all loved theirs. My face was crumpled.

Wild duck

Are you the kind of person who prefers meat off the bone, prawns peeled, fish filleted? Noma might not be for you. A whole wild duck was presented, head and all, with its sides carved into neat slices that you could just pluck and place into a dark cabbage leaf. Oh, yes, we are back. This is much more my thing. I wondered if they had any hoisin sauce hanging around (SO ASIAN) but actually the flavour of the duck was incredible; deep, rich and gamey, the skin sweet. The head was split open and we were encouraged to eat the brains, which my zombie alien companions relished in. I generously waived my portion. Ducks have small brains, okay?

 Of course the best bits are often the darker meat, probably tougher but with loads more flavour. Leggy lollipops and whatever else we'd left behind came back to us portioned nicely, with a berry-like sauce for dipping. We stripped those bones. 

Truffle æbleskiver

Ooh look, little doughnuts in a cute pan! They reminded me of takoyaki, those batter balls filled with delicious octopus. And these ones were right posh, being all topped with truffle and that. They were filled with The Herb of Doom - lovage. Awful stuff, lovage. Hugh Fearnley-Whittingstall has said it tastes "intriguing" and I would agree, I am intrigued as to why on earth anyone thinks it is edible. 

Berries and greens soaked in vinegar for one year

This was every flavour I disliked - nay, found actively repellant - in the opening courses, distilled into one mouthful. 

Roasted kelp ice cream and lemon thyme

I can't remember whether I had any strong feelings about this dish, which is peculiar since I didn't do much fence-sitting for the rest of it. All I can say is that it was a dessert, with no pineapple. Because the Faroe Islands are in Norway. 

A dessert of 'Gammel Dansk' and hazelnut oil

Gammel Dansk is a Danish bitter liquer, likened to Jaegermeister. I can't say I made this association as I found the hazelnut oil mixing with the foaminess of the rectangle puff very unpleasant. I appreciated the light, aerated texture, drizzled with balsamic vinegar, but once the oil got involved, my tongue repelled it. Once again, the alien doppelgangers relished it. (Maybe I am the alien?)

Forest flavours, chocolate and egg liqueur

I ate the mushroom-shaped thing which tasted, ye gods, of chocolate mushroom. I nibbled the bushy chocolate thing at the front, admittedly I had to screw my eyes shut. I threw the towel in and admitted defeat. Instead, I slurped on a whiskey digestif, thoroughly nonplussed about the meal that had just taken place. 

We were offered a tour of the kitchens, which given the level of attractiveness of just the chefs who served us - who knows what other hotty prep chefs they were hiding back there! - it would be foolish to turn down. It's an amazing place; giant prep kitchens, tiny cupboards where all sorts of fermenting take place, and a bitterly freezing outside area where we found other chefs painstakingly plucking the feathers out of wild ducks, huddled together with big hats on to stay warm. Everyone we met was incredibly good-looking sorry, friendly and warm, inviting us to see what they had been working on, and patiently talking us through techniques and methods they use. I was even sent off with a vacuum-packed sachet of home-fermented barley koji to experiment with. 

Back in the prep kitchen, Rene whipped out a map of Copenhagen to doodle on and talked us through all the spots he thought we must visit, taking his time to talk us through why each of them were worth our time. "You must go to this taco place. The food's probably better than here!" he said, with a chuckle. He was just the loveliest.

So, I didn't like a lot of the food. I still left feeling that I'd had a meal of a lifetime though, and one I will never forget. We were treated incredibly well; Noma and their staff are the masters, the very epitome of what great hospitality is all about. In two and a half hours our 20 course meal was over, and not once did I feel that anything was rushed, nor was there a beat missed. Even right at the very end, with a fresh looming service ahead of them, it was suggested that we might stay a little longer to chat and enjoy a glass of wine in the lounge before heading out into the driving snow - perhaps they glanced at my party's footwear and thought we needed bolstering. They were correct. 

I was presented with a huge number of things I'd never eaten before, a lot of flavours that my palate has never experienced (nor, perhaps, would like to again), but I know I may be the anomaly, as I over-heard another guest exclaiming that it was his third visit. Was November, almost the dead of winter, the wrong time to go for me? Would I have enjoyed it more with the fresh, abundant produce of Spring? Between four of us I haven't ever experienced a meal that has divided opinion so much - and we aren't contrarians really - ranging from Jassy who loved the meal, filtering down through Chris and Helen, to me, who was probably the only one who might consider turning fugitive if presented with that 'vegetable flower' again. 

Still, as you can see from our faces, we left really happy - and for me, that's what eating out is all about. 

Don't ever make me eat pickled rose petals again, though. 

Noma

Strandgade 93, 1401 København K, Denmark

+45 32 96 32 97

The Newman Arms, Fitzrovia

Around these parts, The Newman Arms used to be called ‘that pie pub’. I worked 10 minutes away from it for 6 years, and I went a few times – mainly in the depths of winter, to hunker down in the tiny little room upstairs with sticky tartan carpets and too-close-together tables. It smelled like cabbage and butter, and the only thing on the menu was – yep – pies. Most of them were the kind of pies that pie purists get their knickers in a right old twist about; you know the ones, they harp on endlessly about pies needing sides, and these! These! They shout, brandishing their pitchforks. These are CASSEROLES WITH LIDS! Snore. 

Those days are gone now, and so are their pies. The upstairs has been refurbished; nothing extensive, just pared back simplicity. The dining room is tiny, and the kitchen even more so which makes it all the more impressive for what comes out of it. It's still a pub downstairs, and on a Friday night you may have to jostle through a street-full, then a pub-full of drinkers to make your way up the rickety stairs. 

The Cornwall Project has taken the space over; they're also in residence at The Adam and Eve in Homerton, The Three Crowns in Stoke Newington, and The Duke of Edinburgh in Brixton. They like their pubs. The Project started five years ago with Matt Chatfield, a Cornishman who has worked closely with suppliers in Cornwall to bring London restaurants the finest produce, and has now branched out on his own.

From a short and changing menu, duck hearts with beetroot, blackberries and cobnuts is a great little starter; vivid on the plate, and the tender hearts sweetened with the fruit. It felt wonderfully autumnal, and the softer, squidgier textures were offset by the roasted, crunchy cobnuts. Some fine bread, loose-crumbed and sourdoughy, came with a generous pat of butter.

Mackerel with cucamelons - cucamelons! How cute are they? - and dill oil could have done with a heavier hand on the pickle flavour but otherwise the fish itself, served raw, was as fresh could be. Mackerel is an oily fish which has a tendency to go very fishy if it's been sitting around for a while, but there was absolutely no sign of that here. I am in love with cucamelons; grape-sized, cucumber flavoured and with a hint of citrus. 

I loved the aged rump cap beef tartare, properly beefy and chopped coarsely, so you could feel each little piece in your mouth. My poor companion, an avoider of the raw flesh, found that she really liked this one in small doses. Me? I piled that chargrilled toast up high, relishing the pickle and the smoked anchovy cream that dotted the tartare. 

An unexpected treat from the kitchen came in the form of lamb rump with an incredibly, impossibly crisp skin. God I love salty salty lamb fat. Pickled shiitake mushrooms made a change from the usual, a more interesting accompaniment to what can sometimes be a fairly standard meat-and-two-veg choice. 

The turbot though. Now this was pretty damn special. Pearly white flesh, on top of crushed potatoes, grilled yellow courgettes and purple micro-basil. Don't ask me what the sauce was - I have no idea and the menu missed this bit off - but my word this was good. Even though I know turbot is one of the most expensive fishes out there, at £25, it's the most expensive dish on the menu so it had a lot to live up to. Thankfully it did, and I was loathe to share it. 

It's very well I did, because otherwise I may have been denied the salt-baked celeriac with Tunworth cheese. It says a lot about a restaurant when out of 4 main courses you still fancy trying the vegetarian option (ok, maybe it says a lot about me), choosing over pork belly and beef shortrib. I have fond memories of salt-baked celeriac from The Ledbury; the salt-baking really intensifies the flavours, condenses the textures. Tunworth cheese is a runny, pungent one, adding some extra oompf. Pickled walnuts were a nice touch, and I especially liked the cubes of crisp, sharp apple; completely unexpected and it sounded bonkers on paper, but worked beautifully on the plate. 

I didn't take a picture of dessert. I completely forgot. I was having such a lovely time that once the dessert was set before us, we went at it and that was that. It happens a lot with me and desserts. The chocolate mousse was not, in fact, a mousse but was actually a baked fondant, those things with a liquid centre that Masterchef contestants seem to decide to make all the time despite its propensity to go completely wrong. This did not. The insides were molten, the outsides were cakey. It was light enough, topped with ice cream, for us to wipe the dish clean, and not so rich as to make us feel sick. 

As you can tell, I am a big fan of The Newman Arms in its new incarnation. We had a couple of dishes gifted to us (the beef tartare and the lamb) because Matt is just a bloody nice bloke but without it I can hand on heart say that I would feel the same way. These days finding a restaurant in the environs of Soho and Fitzrovia that is actually bookable, with brilliant food that won't bankrupt you is a rare find, and The Newman Arms is all three. 

Oh! There is ONE pie. It's on at lunchtime, when there is a ludicrously cheap 3 courses for £19 deal. I believe it might even have pastry sides to it, but don't hold me to that... 

The Newman Arms
23 Rathbone Street, 
London, W1T 1NG 

Smoking Goat, Soho

On a wet and blustering evening way back in October, I was made acutely aware of my once-infallible appetite failing me. It can only be blamed on age, and the dastardly thing has caught up with me; it has gripped me in its inescapable, vice-like clutches. You see, I ate two dinners, back to back, and it was really very difficult.

The evening was organised by the owners of both joints in mention to preview their openings and we started off at Smoking Goat on Denmark Street, a tiny shoebox of a place that serves Thai barbecue. It was dark and noisy, low-wattage bulbs swinging all over tha place, smoky and pungent. I ate the best damn crab I've ever had, crunching through the shell with utensils, viscera in my hair, curry sauce all over my manic grin as I mopped up the sauce. A record player spun vinyl, and the house water was flavoured with lime leaves. Cocktails were shaken, craft beers on tap, Riesling was poured; this was not your typical Thai restaurant. Huge chicken wings were in abundance, and what's that going past? Oh yes, slabs of lamb ribs, smoked and doused in a fermented shrimp paste and palm sugar, sweet and sticky and resplendent. My stomach pleaded leniency with me for what we had ahead of us, but my greed wouldn't listen. Onwards we went to Som Saa in Hackney (more on that later). Miraculously a second wind blew past me, and I ate another dinner, unable again to control the insatiable demand of my tastebuds. 

The end wasn't pretty. Unable to cope with being in public any longer, finding it difficult to breathe, even, I rolled into a taxi home, groaning all the way, like the over-privileged turd I am. 

I've been impatiently drumming my fingers, waiting to go back ever since. Since Smoking Goat is nearer my office, it's the easier one to visit and we went along at lunchtime, which is the only way you'd be able to get a decent photo without making your mates hold up an iPhone light like some sort of cringe-inducing wanker. They serve a small menu, both afternoon and evening, and between the four of us we were able to get almost the whole menu. Roasted scallops in the shell (opening photo) were in a sparky, spicy, lime-heavy dressing and were the perfect side of roasted. Creamy within and joy! With the coral still attached. One might think those ballsy flavours would overshadow, but they complement the sweetness of the shellfish and we slurped the remnants of the juice from the shells. Roasted aubergine salad, silken and smoky (above) with mint leaves and ground toasted rice for crunch, positively screams 'WOOD!' at you. In, er, the barbecue sense. 

A little gift on the house of this pomelo salad set our world (and mouths) on fire. On the specials board at £3.50, it was a feisty little number; I loved the depth of the dried chillis versus the sharpness of the pomelo (essentially a giant grapefruit). We'd done two salads now, and both were completely different to each other - sometimes at The Begging Bowl (where head chef Seb Holmes used to work) I find that the salads can be a bit similar in their dressings, which I put down to my careless ordering, but here each has a defined and individual flavour.

Fish sauce chicken wings were giant - though, note there are three in a serving. Two of us had to share one. Humpf. But something magical has been done to these, as they have the crispest coating I've encountered on such a wing, and the sauce is almost on the verge of too salty, but saved by what can only be an incredible amount of sugar so they're actually beautifully balanced. Groans erupted from our table. They are that good. 

The mains are big meaty affairs, designed for sharing. On our visit, duck, pork belly, lamb ribs or a whole seabass were available, and we opted for two of the four. With this comes sticky rice as standard, as well as som tam - a great idea for someone like me; a meal without vegetables makes me uncomfortable. The duck was glazed and sticky, the pure flavour of the barbecue permeating the rich flesh. An orange sauce was a nice riff on duck a l'orange, though it was far from cloying or, you know, disgusting, which is what my experience of that dish is. 

If you're hoping for slow-cooked, fally-aparty pork belly that flops over at the prod of your fork then this is not the place for you. The meat, while tender, had bounce, the layers of fat making it incredibly juicy and a worthwhile mouthful. Teeth are a wonderful thing, and they should be utilised. The nam jim is a roasted chilli sauce, possessing that Thai alchemy of perfect hot, sour, sweet and salty balance. It was so good I mine-swept the table for any remaining sticky rice to mop up the remainder.

So, I think you can gather that I liked Smoking Goat a lot. My initial disappointment at discovering the crab curry wasn't on the menu -  they're seasonal, the selfish buggers - was pacified by the brilliance of everything else. As for downsides? There are no desserts; I'm ok with that, but I know many who wouldn't be. If you're a vegetarian you'd go hungry, but then I imagine most Thai food, with its abundance of fish sauce and dried shrimp is off-limits. We noticed an acquired perfume amongst us, mostly of wood and smoke and meat which is mainly a downside because it makes the working afternoon slightly distracting. There's no reservations, so it's likely you'll have to queue, much is the trend in this part of town. But they do have a bookable private dining room. For the four of us, with a bottle of wine and efficient and unobtrusive service we paid around £23 a head which for the level of cooking and the quality of ingredients, is great value. The new year will see me back to drumming my fingers, till I get to visit again. 

Smoking Goat

7 Denmark Street
London WC2H 8LZ

No reservations. Open midday - 3pm, 5pm - midnight, Monday to Saturday