Restaurant Reviews: Pizza East and Storey Deli in E1ish and Lucali's in Brooklyn

This is a story of three pizzas.

The first pizza was at Lucali's in Brooklyn. It is what I judge all other pizzas by. I managed to eat there three times whilst Jen was living in NY and each time the experience was perfect and excelled any attempts by all other pizza joints (be it in Italy, NY or elsewhere).

My summary at the time was the "best meal I have had in NY and one of the better ones I have ever had" (and this was just after going to Momofuku Ko). Annoyingly as the taste fades in memory my desire to go back there grows. The plain pizza with basil was perfect. No point going further. The calzone was good, though not for me, too much ricotta and too little crude backstreet calzone action. Having been raised on thumping chunks of calzone that leak their ingredients all over the table it was a bit too classy.

The plain pizza though.... Praise be.

Ever since then I have had a slight reticence when I go to pizza places as they can only disappoint and, well, Pizza East and Storey Deli did just that.

Mac 'n Cheese that the iPhone just didn't do justice.

Tom and I have pretty similar tastes when it comes to food, but there is one big point of contention between us. I like saucy mac 'n cheese. He likes the dry, baked version. I don't know if this is an "English" thing, but either way, I had to come up with a recipe that works for both of us. This incorporates a little oven action without compromising the creaminess. You can easily riff off this recipe by switching out the cheeses, veg, or meat to your liking.

A block of aged goat Gouda

A block of Comte

1/2 a block of Parmesan

1 small white onion, diced

2 garlic cloves, minced

1 Tbsp of chives, chopped

250 g (1 cup) of diced pancetta

150 g (1/2 cup) of peas

2 Tbsp of butter

2 Tbsp of flour

1 large container of double cream (1/2 quart of half and half)

50 ml (1/4 cup) of vermouth

1 package of penne or other large, tubular pasta

generous amount of fresh black pepper

50 grams (1 cup) of breadcrumbs

Café and Culture Review: Firsts 09 at the Royal Opera House and Fleet Street River Bakery

Jen has told me that this is a food blog and I am not allowed to do cultural reviews any more. Well, what I thought would be helpful would be to do draw analogies between the worlds of theatre and food because, erm, they are very similar and then I am in no way doing a cultural review. So to two contrasting but complementing experiences, Firsts 09 at the Royal Opera House and Fleet Street River Bakery in Holborn.

Firsts 09 is an effort by the ROH to get young choreographers on a bigger stage. We stayed for the first half and saw "Count One" and "Muualla/Elsewhere". Now this is where I struggle to draw the analogy, "Count One" was an indulgent piece of rubbish. The blurb was that it "uses a simple choreographic structure to organize moments of everyday exchange and interaction through a series of physical motifs that are repeatedly 'opened' and 'closed' by its four performers". In reality it was four everyday people - absent grace or skill - doing repetitive nonsensical movements and expecting applause at the end. When it finally finished there was an odd moment which I have never seen before when it seemed as though the whole audience was considering whether it was acceptable for them just to refuse to clap.

Comparing this to my lunch at Fleet Street River Bakery... well... this has to be the equivalent of the "food" I ate there. Fleet Street's food is not on the same level of bad as "Count One" but it is pretty much a nothing. The baguette was tired and underfilled and with no joy or taste to it. The quiche was like an overdose of eggs. As a disclaimer to this I would say that I have had their puddings before and they are wonderful and really I should have just stuck to those.

Restaurant Review: L'Anima in the City

I think my twitter update aptly summarised it: "TomEats is at L'Anima and is on a scale of 1 to fucking, fucking drunk". L'Anima is a restaurant I have meaning to go to for a very long time. I have always understood that is not a place to go on your own dime; that this is pure corporate jolly, someone else's pocket kind of dinning.

I finally had a chance to go and spend my bosses' money at the bar and I have to say I love it. I love the insensible amounts of marble, I love the Miami-esque decor, I love the partisan Italian staff, I love the intoxicating drinks and the delicious snacks.

Sadly I was only able to expense a small selection of the food as I couldn't persuade the clients to stay for supper. I tried some bruschetta, a pizza and calamari. All of them were spot on and showing real attention to detail in what is simply "bar food". What I have also sadly come to realise is that L'Anima is probably good enough that I can't wait any longer and will have to pay for myself to go there.

Price - £150 odd for £150 odd worth of drinks and some bar food

Thanksgiving: A time to get drunk and wear women's boots (if you are a boy).

I am experimenting with a new kind of Thanksgiving dinner party. Good food. Good wine. And a good old fashioned shoe exchange.

Last Saturday, we decided to host a Thanksgiving dinner for 13 friends. Naturally for me, Friday began with panic. If you've ever attempted a Thanksgiving meal for that many people, you know you can't walk in cold. You have to have time and patience. You have to prepare. You have to think and act like a granny.

I had just spent the entire week travelling around England for work. The most I had prepped was some homemade turkey stock and a ridiculous brine that sat quietly on our terrace in a large, plastic box from Ikea. I still needed all the ingredients. I wasn't sure of the final menu. My dream of a pitch perfect Thanksgiving seemed to be slipping away.

Restaurant Review: Pilpel on Brushfield Street

Sometimes I have quite a contrary feeling; I forget that I am a lawyer who resides in the "B desk" on the third floor of high end commercial building designed by Skidmore, Owings and Merrill architects - an position of mute power in the hierarchy and an ineffectual distance away from the windows - and think of the lunch options. Because, here, mere minutes away from the corporate dreariness and buzz words of Liverpool Street there are a surprising amount of enjoyable restaurants to munch away one's melancholy. The one I most consistently look forward to is Pilpel.

I've reviewed Pilpel before (here) but I think the simple cut down review has to be that it is the best falafel you will get in London. And more amazing is that you can go in with a solitary £5 note and get in return: (i) a container of falafel too big to eat (ii) salad (iii) homemade pita (iv) spot on hummus (v) a penny change.

Pilpel is so good that it has somehow remained one of my stalwarts well into the winter months when the mind doesn't normally turn to cold chickpea based food as a winter warmer.

The final joy of Pilpel is the gregarious owner who doles out free falafel bites to you why you wait and is always happy to talk and talk.

Price - 4.99 (with extra feta)

Restaurant Review: Hawksmoor in Spitalfields

The real question when you review is do you try not to hurt people's feelings? Do you placate, ameliorate and well, ignore the truth? Should I, because I am a twitter buddy of the Hawksmoor guy(s), fudge the truth a bit? Should burnt become "with a nice edge of charcoal" or do you just go guns blazing, cheap shots hunting?

Thankfully Hawksmoor didn't put me in this position when I went there for lunch earlier this week. A friend and I knew exactly what we wanted. It was a menu irrelevant kind of meal. It was time for a big burger and chips. If it hadn't been a work lunch that would been paired with a good red.

As you will see from picture one a Hawksmoor burger is big but it accords with the revelation I had earlier this year at Shake Shack in New York. Now Shake Shack and Hawksmoor are very different creatures. Shake Shack is about injecting dirty dirty cheese into a portobello mushroom, ladling on some fat and as many little bits of artery clogging death as you can to your meal. Hawksmoor is about good beef, ground up. However, where they have same philosophy is on the bun. The bun is simply something to hold the meat and give it a bit of a crust. It isn't some quasi baguette you are going lacerate your mouth on. It isn't something you need to have a mouth extension to be able to get your teeth around. It's just perfect.

Restaurant Review: Iskele on Whitecross Street

There is a similarity between a restaurant menu and whisky. If everything on a menu is from one country (or even better one region) - like a single malt is - you know your meal will probably be passable or better. If, instead, you see a menu and it draws "influences" from 43 different cultures and cuisines you know you are in trouble. As interesting as a Peruvian fish and ceviche based dish in the style of an Ethiopian stew with Californian-eseque vegetables might be it will also be a godforsaken mess. However, sometimes fusion works (think of good Australian cuisine) and you can be as happily drunk on food as you might be with a good blended whisky.

So to (via Peru and Scotch whisky) Iskele on Whitecross Street. I am not quite sure how we ended up here. As is apparent I am a disgraceful restaurant snob; albeit a wide minded one. I am as happy going to Momofuku Ko or some squalid Mexican eateries on the baseball fields down in Red Hook in Brooklyn. Both are authentic, both are the equivalent of good whiskies (though Momofuku Ko is definitely a blend) and both deliver. Iskele is not that. Iskele is a multi menu muddle. Iskele is see-through plastic table covers over tasled tablecloths. Iskele is being offered a free shot at the end of the meal and having to shake the hand of every waiter of the restaurant when you leave.

Restaurant Review: Fernandez and Leluu Supper Club

This review starts off with an admission of faulty judgement and ends with drunken meal joy.

A picky Parisian friend was bringing his new girlfriend over to London for the weekend so my girlfriend (a picky New Yorker) and I offered to arrange the meals for them. It began with a standardly brilliant breakfast at The Modern Pantry at which I found out his girlfriend was (i) Parisian (ii) liked champagne (iii) wanted to go clubbing in West London and (iv) liked champagne. At this stage I got nervous as for Saturday night I had booked Fernandez & Leluu's supper club in London Fields.

On re examining the menu they posted online I started to get really nervous; frogs' legs (for French people?!?), a Vietnamese inspired menu with pineapple and catfish thrown together. Was this going to be an unholy mess? Was the new girlfriend going to demand champagne and the soothing (boring) streets of West London?

Fortunately for me, I was completely and utterly wrong. It transpires that Fernandez & Leluu are both far better cooks than me (and most venues in London) and far far better at considering innovative flavour pairings than I (oh, and can cook frogs' legs well enough to wow a French person).

In a true over reviewing style, I'll start at the beginning and fade out towards the end (as that is when my enjoyment of the meal interfered with my memory).

Theatre Review: The Abbatoir Pages by Foolish People and Guerilla Zoo

From the plot tight theatrics of Slung Low at the Barbican to the quasi horror of Foolish People at the Old Abbatoir in St John's Street, Clerkenwell.

This "performance" was so nearly there. It got so many things right (the location - a multi floored industrial abbatoir; the costumes - freaky and sticky animal masks disfiguring and isolating those wearing them; the set - a Victoriana Jekyll and Hyde experience). It only got one thing wrong. It completely forgot the plot.

From my first experiences of interactive performance theatre such as this, theatre companies have always seemed to revel in how they can screw up, twist and maul the plots of the novels they interpret. Almost like the theatrical equivalent of Pulp Fiction they cut and change and play with time. However, there still has to be a plot. Something with a cohesion and a sense of travel at the centre.

This is where Punchdrunk went so wrong with Masque of the Red Death; they swapped acting and plot for hysterical wailings. Unfortunately the Abbatoir Pages also makes this mistake. What storyline there was revolved around madness and the bleeding of fiction into reality. This meant that they could plop onto the lowest common denominator and wander about wailing with some mad dancing.

Restaurant Review: Nuno Mendes at the Loft

You know you are not in a 'normal' 'underground restaurant' when the chef repeatedly prepares his dishes sous-vide or by vacuum/ slow cooking. You know you are not in a 'normal' 'underground restaurant' when the meal proceeds completely to pace with no undue delays or panics. You know you are not in a 'normal' 'underground restaurant' when you pay £100 a head.

In short, it's worth it. Consider a dinner at The Loft as a bit like eating at the chef's table in a good restaurant. Then make a it a bit more open, make Nuno Mendes a charming Portuguese host and set it in his flat (which despite being called The Loft is on the ground floor). Then pluck some refined wine choices and enjoy a perfectly placed meal which gives you a chance to try some experimental dishes from the chef which you can chat through with him.

Not all of the dishes worked, some amazed, some were flat, none simply disappointed. All of them were 15 degrees to the normal restaurant tangent but within the el Bulli heritage. The only problem with the whole experience is that it is so distant and unfamiliar from the whole underground scene. It is far too smooth. That said I don't quiet know why that is a criticism, but it is.

I will be interested to see how his new restaurant, Viajante, goes. It is clear that his first attempt to strike out on his own was ill timed and too intermittently good (Bacchus). I never went but some of the reviews judge it as just plain bad. On the evidence of my meal at The Loft there is a consistency and sense to his meals that, for me, worked. If the wave that he has generated doing a supper club doesn't eb, I am sure it will be a success.

Price - £100

Theatre Review: Slung Low - They Only Come at Night: Visions

How often do you go to the theatre and come out of it with (i) three bags of salted crisps, (ii) a JP Morgan business card with "executive director" crossed out and "vampire hunter" written instead and (iii) a glow stick. Never, that's how often. Well go to Slung Low's new piece at the Barbican - They Only Come at Night: Visions.

Now, if you haven't been yet and have tickets you shouldn't read this. If you want to go you might as well read this review (as it is sold out). Slung Low's latest piece is the first really engaging bit of interactive theatre I have seen since I went to Faust (by Punchdrunk) years ago. Recent attempts at interactive theatre have been shallow grasps at the brilliance of Faust. Even Punchdrunk's Red Masque at the Battersea Arts Club was a poor imitation.

"They Only Come at Night" is the cut down urban version of Faust. It takes place in the bowels of the Barbican car park; on what is meant to be a walking tour of London and degenerates into a vampire dodging escape. I have read some reviews of previous work by Slung Low and they haven't all been that great. I think the difference here is the Barbican itself is a perfect womb for such a performance to take place; like some modern day Ridley Scott Aliens' ship.

Restaurant Review: Savoy Truffle Supper Club

This review depends on a sausage.  Don't worry, it will all become clear.

We made our way to Blackheath on a filthy autumn Friday night to enjoy a meal at the Savoy Truffle supper club; another "underground" restaurant.  Though this has to be the first time Blackheath has ever been part of something"underground" or cutting edge.

I was excited as I had heard on the grapevine that the chef worked at the River Cafe (one of my favourite restaurants).  I later found out I was wrong and he is training at Acorn House (an overrated eco miss).  Still there was at least some pedigree. The menu was short so I'll set it out in full:

1. Pumpkin Soup

2. Bangers and mash

3. Crumble

The quality was, well it was the kind of meal you would make on a night after work where you were trying to impress yourself.  Not extravagant, not fanciful but solid and enjoyable.  Pumpkin soup was pumpkin soup however the chef added chilli sauce which was an interesting touch.  The crumble was, a crumble.  Portions were huge, the service accomodating, the atmosphere a genteel dinning room.

Cocktails so good, they just might ruin your relationship.

Last night, we kicked off a Guy Fawkes celebration with what I'm told is standard British fare -fireworks and alcohol. This morning I'm sitting in the living room as Tom attempts to recover from an epic night of drinking. What do I get out of this? A naked man serving me Marmite on toast. I take partial responsibility. Margaritas and hot cider are a dangerous, yet delicious combination.

Margaritas

10 lemons

15 limes

2 oranges

Tequila

Cointreau

Coarse sea salt

Lime wedges for garnish

Juice all the lemons, limes, and oranges and combine to make a "sweet and sour" mix. Run a lime wedge around the rim of a glass and coat with salt. In a cocktail shaker, combine crushed ice with 1 oz. tequila, 1/2 oz. Cointreau, 1 oz. sweet and sour mix. Shake, serve, and repeat (indoors).

Hot Cider

1/3 bottle of rum

1 bottle of English cider

1/2 bottle of unfiltered apple juice

2 cinnamon sticks

6 cloves

6 cardamom pods

50 g of sugar

1 Tbsp honey

juice of 2 lemons

Simmer all the above on low heat until the spices infuse. Pour in a thermos, serve, and repeat (outdoors).

Blog

Ever since I discovered yelp in NY I have become a bit of a reviewing obsessive.  The first thing I do when I get home from a restaurant is go online and put down my mutterings about it.   It changes the way you experience a meal.  When you sit in a restaurant with some serious food horrors being thrown at you you can at least plan your literary revenge.  Conversely, where you have one of "those" meals you instead taste and savour and scrabble at words to convey some of the flavour.

 

Anyway I thought it was about time to give blogging (and not just yelping) a go.  Or at least distract myself from work a bit.  I mean, I like eating and Jen loves cooking.  Works well.   If I am allowed in the kitchen I might even put a recipe as well

So hopefully this is the first post of many...