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Côte Restaurant, Parsons Green

Cote_restaurant_review

Last night Carniverous Boyfriend and I were feeling really lazy. After a hardcore day’s shopping in Central London, we wanted the pick me up of a guaranteed good feed and bustling atmosphere without having to venture too far from home. After a few minutes debate we picked up the phone and booked a table at Côte.

When I was little, a margarita followed by a chocolate bombe at Pizza Express was the ultimate childhood treat. Then when Strada appeared on the scene, my tastes migrated over to their bigger,  more authentic Italian pizzas and wider choice of main courses. However nowadays I find chains like these pretty hit and miss; some locations serve up fairly tasty food in nice surroundings while others really feel like they’re just going through the motions, serving out tired classics to disinterested punters.

Côte is the perfect antidote to these kind of chains (for the moment anyway. I guess with expansion and time it could go the way of others, but I really hope not). With its buzzy, informal dining rooms, simple take on French food and fairly modest prices, it offers the perfect neighbourhood brasserie experience. The food is never going to win any awards, but it’s good, dependable and enjoyable, and sometimes that’s exactly what you need.

After a pitstop at the Fulham Wine Rooms (separate review to follow. If you haven’t been, its a great place to try over 50 different wines by the glass, with the added novelty of dispensing your own tasters, although this way costs do add up), we headed down to Côte opposite Parsons Green tube. At 8pm the dining room was pretty full already, testament to its popularity amongst a local crowd.

cote_restaurant

We didn’t go for steak on this occasion, having had it t home the night before, but from previous experience you can’t go wrong with the various different cuts on offer; from the simple steak frites at £9.95 to the fillet at almost double that, the meat is tender, cooked as you ask and full of good flavour. Instead we went down a more fishy route opting for light, crispy cod goujons with chips and salmon fishcakes with spinach for our mains. The goujons were beautifully light – a miniature French take on fish and chips – and, although the fishcakes were a little on the dry side, the flaky salmon worked well with a creamy dill and wholegrain mustard sauce.

My starter of seared scallops with pea & mint puree, pea shoots and crispy lardons was the highlight for me. This combination of salty crunch and creamy flesh is something you see on a lot of menus, but only because it works so well, and Côte definitely got it right. Carniverous boyfriend’s rillettes of duck and pork with toasted sourdough and cornichons were another simple take on a classic French dish, delivering big, satisfying flavours.

cote_restaurant_pudding

We finished with a huge tarte fine aux pommes and a rich chocolate fondant. If I really wanted to complain, the fondant could have been cooked a minute or so less to allow for an even more melting middle, but by the time I noticed I’d practically wolfed the whole thing anyway so sending it back was hardly an option.

Service throughout the meal was efficient and friendly. Wines by the glass arrived in time for the dishes we’d matched them to, something even higher end restaurants often get wrong by bringing too early, or forgetting to bring them until you’re half way through your dish. The dining room was cosy, buzzy and full of contented diners enjoying the simple, sound modern bistro cooking that Côte does so well. Next time you’re looking for an affordable local feed, I’d definitely recommend trying this neighbourhood gem.

Cote on Urbanspoon

Ottolenghi’s Swiss Bircher Muesli

delicious_creamy_bircher_muesli

Inspired by the beautiful light mornings that have arrived with the clocks going forwards, I’ve been getting up early to go to Beautcamp Pilates before work. After such a virtuous start to the day I want to put something good into my body, but at the same time, the early morning workout means I’m pretty hungry by the time I get around to eating breakfast.

blackberries_blueberriesBircher Muesli is the perfect solution. Invented by Swiss doctor Maximilien Bircher-Benner for his patients in the late nineteenth century, this is the perfect morning sustenance, and totally versatile depending on the fruits, nuts and seeds you have to hand that day. Dr. Bircher revolutionized the eating habits of his era by advocating fresh fruit, vegetables and nuts over meat, white bread and other refined produce, and I guarantee that when you try this recipe you’ll be overcome with a certain feeling of smug virtuosity.

The recipe here is adapted from a Yottam Ottolenghi recipe I found in The Guardian. I love Ottolenghi’s experimental yet unpretentious use of ingredients, and this recipe is no exception. A slight departure from my beloved breads and toasts, but incredibly delicious nonetheless.

Swiss Bircher Muesli (adapted from Ottolenghi’s recipe)
Serves 2

100g rolled oats or oat mixture (I used Rude Health’s 5 grain mix, Morning Glory)
120ml cold milk
40ml cloudy apple juice
80g natural yoghurt
1/2 an apple (Braeburn or Granny Smith)
20g honey or maple syrup
Juice of 1/2  a lime
Dash vanilla essence
30g chopped walnuts or pistachios
30g raisins
Dried cranberries & pistachios to decorate

Pour the oats into a bowl and cover with milk and apple juice. Leave to rest in the fridge for at least 10 minutes (I do it just before I go to bed so that by morning the oats have absorbed all the liquid to become soft and delicious).

When ready to serve grate in the apple, and stir in the yoghurt, honey or maple syrup, lime juice, vanilla essence, fruit and nuts. Stir, transfer to serving bowls and scatter with additional toppings.

This is such an adaptable recipe. It would be delicious with banana, pomegranate, fresh berries, stewed peaches, plums or rhubarb, different nuts and seeds or even chocolate and a splash of alcohol for the ultimate indulgence. After all, you can’t be virtuous all the time.

bircher_muesli_with_berries

Joe Allen restaurant review

covent_garden_diningGone are the heady days when publishers’ lives were filled with star-studded outings and long boozy lunches. In fact, they’re so long gone that in the short time I’ve been working in the industry, I’ve become more accustomed to a packed lunch at my desk than the kind of liquid lunches publishing history is made of.

Having said that, occasionally we do get to wine and dine our authors, and this week I was taken to Joe Allen. The last time I went was with my family as a teenager after seeing a West End show. I remember the bustling atmosphere, even as we sat down to eat after 10pm, the sultry lighting, friendly staff and generous servings, variously accompanied by giant stacks of fries or slabs of ice cream. Maybe the short supply of media types willing to splash their cash on a daily basis has had an effect on Joe Allen, because this time round, it seemed to have lost a little of its magic.  

joe_allen_american_restaurantTucked away in a darkened basement on Exeter Street, this restaurant has been a theatre-land stalwart since before I was born. The walls are lined with vintage posters, famous faces and wooden panels, and these, combined with the soft lighting and pianist tinkling away in the corner, make for a fun, if a little tired, dining room.

We were  party of nine, arriving for dinner on a quiet Monday night. Ushering us through to a cosy corner, the waiting staff were friendly and helpful, and quickly brought water, wine and bread to the table. The bread basket was nothing to write home about (by strict little loaf standards. . .), but crusty and doughy enough in equal measures to keep me happy until our starters arrived.

The menu at Joe Allen is pretty comprehensive. Divided into Starters, Salads & Eggs for those in more of the mood for brunch, Main Courses, Sides and Desserts, there’s something for everyone. Gilt head bream and tiger prawns sit alongside chilli con carne, mutton cobbler and macaroni & cheese and, as you might expect from such variety, some dishes do better than others.

A starter of (very little) asparagus, red onion and blood orange was little more than a glorified side salad. The ingredients, while all nicely flavoured and fresh, lacked an extra something to bring the whole dish together. A chorizo starter was better, although the tiny nuggets of sausage again made this feel more like a side dish than the star of the show. Caesar salad and a plate of gravadlax did what they said on the tin; not hugely exciting, but nothing to complain about either.

Mains fared much better, although my overall feeling was that the food was good, not great, for these kind of prices. Grilled gilt head bream fillet was delicate, and the accompanying caper and parsley salsa was a nice contrast to the crispy skin. Four oversized chips served in a line seemed a bit pretentious for a restaurant that serves steaming bowls of chilli in simple white bowls, but they tasted pretty good. The chilli con carne with plain boiled rice was warm, comforting home-style food, and, in the restaurant’s favour, the lower price point of £9.50 showed that they recognised this. The Barnsley chop was huge, while a plate of scallops were tiny, which made me glad I hadn’t opted for this main (I adore scallops but the raisin couscous had put me off – raisins and savoury, I just can’t do it).

After a large meal and a very small pause, we barely had time to undo our top buttons before the waiter was ready to take our order for dessert. It being Monday, and the start of the working week, we quickly made our decisions, although a slight breather before pudding would probably have been a better idea.

Puddings were giant, and mostly enjoyable in the sickly sweet way that giant puddings are. We demolished sticky pecan pie, a chocolate brownie and an enormous dish of rich chocolate and vanilla ice cream, but were left bemused by a slightly bizarre cheesecake. Snowy white, and with hardly a hint of crumb or crust, it tasted of very little apart from a strange salty tang. It felt like the kind of dish that might once have been a signature, but now fell slightly short of the mark in a restaurant that is just a bit long in the tooth.

Joe Allen’s New York brasserie style comfort cooking was never going to win it any major awards. And situated in the heart of theatre-land, its pretty much guaranteed that it will continue to pull in a reliable stream of fairly uncritical punters. This is a  restaurant that’s more about the atmosphere, history and location than incredible food, but I don’t think that should mean they become complacent. My meal was ok. The company was good. But at knocking on £40 a head without wine, I think it could be better.

Joe Allen on Urbanspoon

Crispy, chewy oatmeal raisin cookies

oatmeal_raisin_chocolate_chip_cookie

Crispy and chewy – the perfect cookie

Oats are pretty amazing things. Packed with nutrients including vitamin E, zinc, selenium, copper, iron and more, they are a good source of protein (I can almost hear carniverous boyfriend shaking his head at this claim. Ok. A good source of protein that tastes good in cookies. Chewy chicken breast cookies just aren’t going to cut it with this little loaf). They can even help lower cholesterol and blood pressure. Basically, oats are a good thing.

I first tasted Bircher Muesli several years ago on holiday in the Caribbean, and have been searching for the perfect recipe ever since. Packed with oats, fruit, and mulchy, milky goodness, it is the perfect healthy oaty breakfast. I think I may have just about cracked the perfect blend – blog post to follow soon – but in the meantime, my various attempts mean I have a big old stash of rolled oats sitting in my cupboard.

Some of them have been turned into porridge. A few more met a delicious, sticky end in my adaptation of Dan Lepard’s fudgy tahini flapjacks. And this weekend, another handful made its way into a batch of crispy, chewy oatmeal raisin cookies.

I’m quite particular when it comes to cookies. I like them big (at least the size of my palm), thick and chewy, with a slightly crispy edge. I’m not a tea drinker so I don’t care about dunkability – I want the real American doughy deal, perfect with a glass of milk and more of a delicious dessert than a flimsy biscuit. Buttery, chewy and packed with chunks of chocolate, fruit and nuts, this recipe is the answer. I slightly overcooked mine as you can see from the pictures, but follow the timings below, and they should be spot on.

oaty_chocolate_walnut_raisin_cookie

Tip: To get a thick, chewy cookie that doesn’t collape in a buttery puddle across the baking sheet when heated, chill the dough for at least 2 hours before cooking. Alternatively you could freeze the slightly flattened cookie balls and cook on demand for that ‘fresh out the oven’ warmth – they just need a few minutes longer.

Crispy, chewy oatmeal raisin cookies with walnuts

75g softened butter
85g soft brown sugar
1 tsp vanilla essence
1 egg, beaten
50g wholemeal flour
1 tsp ground cinammon
1/2 tsp bicarbonate of soda
1/2 tsp salt
75g rolled oats
75g raisins
50g chopped walnuts
50g chocolate chips (optional)

Cream together the butter, sugar, vanilla essence and egg. If you don’t have an electric mixer you can do this by hand, but it really needs to be as smooth as possible, so a good 5-10 mins of beating is required. (healthy oats and an arm workout, this recipe is a winner!)

 

In a separate bowl whisk together the wholemeal flour, cinammon, bicarbonate of soda and salt. Add the rolled oats then stir into the butter and sugar mixture. Stir in the raisins, walnuts and chocolte chips if using.

Shape the dough into small rounds, flatten slightly and chill in the fridge for two hours. This is optional, but I’d recommend you be patient if you can, the results definitely are better. The dough could make anything between five and twenty cookies depending how giant you like them.

 

Preheat the oven to 180 degrees C/350 degrees F. Place cookies two inches apart on a non stick baking tray. Bake for 10-15 mins until just coloured – this will give a crispy edge but a soft, doughy middle.

Leave to cool and enjoy.

yummy_chocolate_oat_raisin_cookies

Little Black Dress Chocolate Cake

A simple, incredible chocolate cake is like a little black dress; everyone should have one in their culinary wardrobe. So says Hugh Fernley-Whittingstall of River Cafe and Cottage fame. I’m not sure about Hugh’s taste in in evening wear, but his ‘Easy rich chocolate cake’ from River Cottage Everyday is definitely the kind of staple recipe every girl should have up her sleeve. Rich, moist and velvety, this is an intense chocoholic hit, and the perfect dessert to rustle up for any occasion.

simple_chocolate_cake_recipe

I made this for a group of friends for Sunday lunch and served it with a wickedly indulgent thick whiskey cream . . . Sadly I don’t have any photos of this- by the time I had my camera out the whole bowl had been wolfed.

Warning *excess consumption of said little black cake may result in inability to fit into your favourite little black dress*

Easy rich chocolate cake (from River Cottage Everyday)
Serves 10

250g dark chocolate, broken into pieces
250g unsalted butter, cubed
4 eggs, whites and yolks separated
100g caster sugar
100g soft brown or muscovado sugar
50g plain flour
50g ground almonds

Grease and line a 23cm springform cake tin and preheat the oven to 170 degrees C/Gas Mark 3.

Melt butter and chocolate together and leave to cool.

melted_chocolaty_goodness

Meanwhile whisk together the egg yolks and sugar til well combined., then add the cooled chocolate mixture. Combine the flour and almonds and fold these in, too.

chocolate_cake

In  separate bowl, whisk the egg whites til they hold firm peaks. Stir  large spoonful of egg white into the chocolate mixture to loosen it, then carefully fold in the rest of the whites, taking care to keep in as much air as possible. Use  lrge metal spoon – this will keep the cake light and velvety.

Egg_white_whisked

Pour the mixture into the tin and bake in the preheated oven for approx. 30 mins until just set. I checked mine after 25 and suggest you do the same. It should still be slightly wobbly in the centre – this will then set into a sticky, fudgy chocolate dream once cooled. Leave at least 15 mins before releasing from the tin and serving with boozy whiskey cream (recipe below).

chocolate

Whiskey cream

200ml thick whipping cream
1 tbsp vanilla sugar
Good slug of your favourite whiskey

Whip cream, then stir in sugar and whiskey, adjusting measures to taste. Taste again. One more spoon. . . And serve.

Golden, salty, oily focaccia

Having recently eaten some good, but slightly unremarkable, focaccia at Gemma Tuley’s Fulham restaurant, Manson, I wanted to have a go at making my own. I’m loving The River Cottage Bread handbook at the moment so I decided to trust Daniel Stevens’ detailed directions and advice and give his recipe a go.

Freshly_baked focaccia

My reward was an incredible pillow of beautiful golden bread, studded with salt crystals and speckled with crispy baked rosemary. The shallow finger wells collected little pools of fruity olive oil, and a good ten minutes of dedicated kneading resulted in a slightly aerated dough with little air pockets that made this really look and taste like the real thing. Focaccia seems to be a pretty forgiving dough, so if you’re fairly new to bread baking, I definitely recommend giving this a go.

Focaccia_fresh_from_oven

Homemade Italian Focaccia (quantities adapted slightly from The River Cottage Bread Handbook to match my 7g sachet of yeast)

700g strong white bread flour, Italian ’00 if possible
7g powdered yeast
14g fine salt
480ml warm water
1 tbsp olive oil plus extra to finish
3 sprigs rosemary, leaves stripped and torn
A good sprinkle of flaky sea salt

Combine the flour, salt, yeast and water in a bowl to form a sticky dough. Add the oil, then turn the dough onto a clean worksurface and knead until smooth and silky, around 10 mins.

Shape the dough into a round and return to the cleaned bowl. Wrap the bowl in a black bin liner and leave to rise in a warm place for around an hour (this weekend it was so gorgeous I left mine to rise in the sunshine in the back garden). When it has doubled in size, tip it onto the work surface and press into a rough rectangle.

Place dough on a lightly oiled baking tray and leave to rise, wrapped back up in the bin liner, for around 30 mins.

Preheat the oven to 250 degrees C/Gas Mark 10 (basically the highest your oven will go).  Press your focaccia dough all over with your fingers to form deep pockets (these will later collect all that delicious oil, salt and rosemary), drizzle with olive oil and scatter with salt and rosemary.

Bake for 15 mins, then turn down the heat if browning too quickly, and bake another 5-10 mins.

Remove from the oven and leave to cool slightly. Focaccia is delicious served warm, so if you don’t want to eat it straight away, you can reheat in a low oven just before serving.

Homemade_focaccia

Once you’ve made this recipe you’ll come back to it time and again. You can also try different toppings and flavour combinations – I love it with black olives and a sprinkling of red onion which caramelizes beautifully on the golden crust. Or sundried tomatoes distributed through the dough, different pestos and cheeses, nuts, thyme instead of rosemary . . . the list in endless.

Manson Restaurant Review

Manson_London_Gemma_Gordon_RamsaySandwiched half way between The River Cafe in one direction and The Harwood Arms in another, we’re spoilt for choice when it comes to delicious food on our doorstep. If you’re in the mood for something a little lower key (and less budget busting), you can also find  numerous bistros, pizzerias and smart gastropubs in and around the Fulham Road, packed with locals throughout the week and showing little sign of being affected by the recession.

Manson has been around for a little while now, and falls into that category of smart, laid back local dining with a menu that has aspirations above its informal decor and straightforward, friendly service. Every review I’ve read so far makes some kind of comedy reference to the name, suggesting it smacks of serial killers and deranged recording artists, so I’m going to steer clear of that. Suffice to say that Manson is the owner’s surname. His head chef Chef Gemma Tuley trained under Gordon Ramsay and this shows in the elegant presentation of well-sourced ingredients.  Food for The Beautiful People, although possibly not the kind Marilyn Manson had in mind (sorry . . .)

Manson_restaurant_Fulham_interior

To celebrate my Mum’s birthday, we headed down there on a quiet weekday evening. Arriving earlier than expected, we needn’t have worried about reserving a table as the restaurant was only about a quarter full at 8.15pm. Candles twinkled invitingly from a row of cosy looking leather banquettes in the window, but as a three (my Dad’s away tasting wine in Bordeaux under the pretext of work . . .) we opted against these in favour of a central table with plenty of elbow space. From there we had the chance to survey all of Manson’s rustic charm – burnished mirrors running across the whole back wall, moody low lighting and a gorgeous wooden bar where fresh green apples, oranges and loaves of bread nestle in their own compartments.

After we’d ordered a bottle of something cold, crisp and fairly priced, our waitress brought over a basket of bread. I’ve been thinking about what I should include in my restaurant reviews since writing up Dean Street Townhouse and Trullo, and decided that, as the littleloaf, it would be rude not to include a round up of the bread, something often dismissed or ignored by other reviewers. Manson’s offering was a mixture of freshly cut crusty wholemeal and cubes of focaccia. I don’t imagine it had been made in-house, and the focaccia lacked that light crumb and slight salty ooze of grease you get with a freshly baked batch, but both options were perfectly good, and arrived with a smooth pat of salty butter.

Freshly_baked_focaccia

It got me thinking, maybe the bread basket is a good sign of where you’re going with a restaurant’s food, because moving onto the actual dishes it was a similar story  – tasty, considered ingredients cooked well, but lacking in that extra special element which takes a meal from the background of an evening to the main event. Having said that, my starter of grilled squid with potato, purple sprouting broccoli, garlic and chilli was very impressive – curls of charred creamy tentacles contrasting with the richness of the greens and brought to life with a spicy kick. It looked and tasted spot on. My Mum agreed that the squid was a good dish, and Carniverous Boyfriend’s (CB) snails on toast disappeared from the plate pretty quickly.

As did his rare rib-eye and chips. Served with chips on a bed of roasted carrots it was juicy and well-cooked – the quality of ingredients shining through simple cooking. My Mum’s sole with spinach and mussels was nicely presented with good clean flavours, although I think I’ve seen a similar dish on half a dozen menus in as many months. My tiger prawns were probably the biggest disappointment, and this isn’t a huge complaint; just a minor gripe when Manson have proved they have the potential to make good dishes great.  They were nicely done, with sweet chargrilled flesh, but my plate contained just four slightly sad specimens, heads removed, but bizarrely left on the plate as a kind of macabre decoration. Possibly an attempt to justify the £20 price tag.

Dessert was a winner. CB and I looked no further than a pair of chocolate brownies with salted caramel ice cream and honeycomb, while my Mum went for her standard camomile tea (I definitely didn’t inherit my sweet tooth from her). The brownie was gooey, dark and delicious, while the honeycomb provided crunch against the smooth cold ice cream. I’m not sure why the brownie had raisins in – the juicy plumpness of the fruit jarred slightly with the super sweet honeycomb crisps – but I’m not going to complain.

Which is probably my overall sentiment for the meal. The room was buzzy, the service friendly (if a little haphazard), the company happy and the food well-cooked from good ingredients. We had a really lovely birthday evening and were home within 10 minutes of paying the bill. But the high aspirations of this restaurant come with a high price tag considering the location, and I think there are probably a lot more restaurants where you could get a truly incredible meal at for the same kind of price. Maybe it was our mid-week timing, maybe I’m getting spoilt by the amazing places popping up round London every day now, or maybe Manson hasn’t quite cracked it.

If you’ve been, I’d love to know what you think.

Manson on Urbanspoon

Dan Lepard’s fudgy tahini flapjacks

Flapjacks

Fudgy tahini flapjacks

When I was growing up, my Mum had a fairly puritanical approach to pudding – possibly one of the reasons I now have such a sweet tooth. She was always the one on the doorstep at Halloween, popping packets of Sunmaid raisins into the goodie bags of expectant trick or treaters . . . if they were lucky enough to get anything at all.

One enduring food memory from my childhood was a fruity surprise my Mum used to make – essentially a large cooking apple, hollowed out, stuffed with raisins and baked. For a child whose idea of the perfect pudding was chocolate, ice cream, chocolate ice cream or any variation thereof, this healthy treat wasn’t exactly top of my list. And quite strange considering my Mum has a bizarre aversion to apples, cooked or raw, and can’t bear to eat them herself (when my Dad first took her home to meet his apple farming mother for the first time, many years ago, my Grandma knew it must be some kind of ironic fate, and that this would be the woman he would end up marrying).

Fudgy_flapjacks

Having said all this, my Mum is a fabulous cook, and when she did turn her hand to a proper sweet treat, the results were, and still are, delicious. One recipe she used to rustle up as an after school snack was tahini flapjacks. Packed with oaty goodness, and rendered fudgy and sweet (without copious amounts of butter) by the combination of sesame paste and honey, they were a healthy treat that kept the hungry little loaf and her brother more than happy.

I’ve posted quite a lot of chocolatey stuff on thelittleloaf, and this week I wanted to try something different. So, with a packet of barely eaten Rude Health oats sitting in the cupboard (who am I kidding, I’ll never bother with porridge for breakfast when there’s a homemade loaf to munch), I decided to have a go at those after-school teatime treats just like Mum used to make.

Without her recipe to hand, I turned to Google, and immediately found Dan Lepard’s halva flapjack recipe from The Guardian website.  With a couple of little tweaks, including a slight reduction in sugar (is that my Mum I hear applauding me?), what follows can only be described as the ultimate flapjack recipe.  Carniverous boyfriend, who is doing a crazy protein only diet at the moment, with just one carb packed treat meal each week, declared them ‘delicious’ and devoured two in about as many minutes. Praise indeed.

fudgy_baked_delicious_flapjacks

[Adapted from Dan Lepard’s halva flapjack recipe]

100g unsalted butter
50g soft brown sugar
200g sweetened condensed milk
75g tahini
50g honey
100g chopped dried dates (you could substitute with dried figs, raisins, or even cranberries for a zingier result)
100g chopped walnuts (I think pecans or hazlenuts could also work well)
25g sesame seeds
200g rolled oats (I used a Rude Health oat mix including pumpkin and sunflower seeds)

Preheat the oven to 180C (160C if it’s fan-assisted like mine)/350F/gas mark 4.

Oat_Mix

Melt the butter in a saucepan, then stir in brown sugar and condensed milk until everything is dissolved. Remove from the heat and stir in the tahini and honey, then the dried fruit, nuts and sesame seeds. Now stir in enough rolled oats until the mixture just holds its shape – the more oats you add to the mix, the firmer the finished flapjack will be.

flapjack_recipe

Line a 20cm or 25cm square cake tin (or similar) with buttered foil and pack the flapjack mixture into the base. and bake for 15-20 minutes, until the flapjack is just beginning to turn golden on top. Remove from the oven and set aside to cool before slicing.

fudgy_flapjack_treats

In love at Dean Street Townhouse (and with it)

Dean_Street_Townhouse

I’ve got a confession to make. I’m a little bit in love with Soho House Group.

I like their easy, comfortable style, the way they mix modern touches with the decadence of a bygone era, the relaxed efficiency (really) of their staff and the simple tastiness of their menus.  Last November I spent three glorious days in Soho House Berlin with carniverous boyfriend (CB), sipping champagne in the free standing bath, sinking into deep velvety sofas, indulging in cocktails and feasting on classic dishes.

So, when my six year (!) anniversary with CB came round, I jumped at the excuse to try another outpost of my new obsession.

Babington House sounded incredible, but slightly out of our price range once we’d factored in travel, accommodation and a button-busting romantic meal. Step up Dean Street Townhouse. I read on the Mr and Mrs Smith website (another favourite travel brand) that if Dean Street’s older, more stately, sister Babington House attracts reclusive, romantic and poetic types with its deeply rustic Somerset charms, then the Townhouse plays the youthful role of sultry Soho girl about town, and this sounded spot on. We wanted somewhere fun and vibrant, and the fact that we’d be booking a hotel in the city we already live in made it feel extra indulgent.

The hotel was everything we dreamed it would be – Farrow and Ball paint on the walls, a huge bed piled high with downy pillows, a bathroom you could while away hours in, fluffy white bathrobes, luxurious Cowshed products, and a mini-bar packed with treats. The ultimate romantic bolt-hole and an oasis in the heart of London. But this is a food blog, so I’m guessing you want to hear about what we ate?

Dining_Room_Dean_Street_Townhouse

Dean Street Townhouse dining room

The restaurant, much like the one in Berlin, is that fabulous mixture of shabby and chic – a huge zinc topped bar runs the length of the room where rows of white table cloths contrast with the more relaxed, clubby feeling low slung velvet armchairs. The latter being perfect for an after dinner nightcap/snooze, but less good to eat a meal from. On arrival we were led to a gorgeously romantic fireside set of armchairs, clearly chosen for their moody dark lighting and intimate setting for our romantic meal, but after a couple of minutes straining to read the menu in the half light as the chairs threatened to engulf us, we asked if we could be moved to the buzzy, bright main area. Cocktails and snoozing could come later.

The menu is a joy to read. Good, old fashioned British cooking with a modern twist, it lacks the elaborate wording of so many restaurants today and settles instead on simple descriptions of comfort food from a bygone era. I could have eaten pretty much anything on there. Except the manx queenies with hedge bedstraw. Having no idea what this bizarre sounding concoction entailed, and feeling sure in my convictions that it wouldn’t be something I wanted even if I did, I plumped for the crab salad, sipped my sauvignon and looked dreamily into CB’s eyes…

Only to spot an incredible dish of scallops being delivered to the neighbouring table. I shamefacedly called over our waiter who explained that yes, Manx Queenie is in fact the affectionate local name for a queen scallop from the Isle of Man. I amended my order immediately and was rewarded with a plate of tiny bite sized scallops in their shell, decorated with a sprinkling of herbs and the sharp citrus kick of seasonal blood orange. CB’s twice baked smoked haddock souffle was the complete opposite of this delicate dish, and not particularly beautiful to look at, but the smooth creaminess of the salty, smoky fish against a buttery chive sauce can only be described as nursery food heaven.

For mains, my protein loving other half opted for a hearty rare fillet steak which arrived oozing blood and beautfully cooked. My fillet of sea bass with fennel, Poole cockles and dill had crisp skin, delicate, meaty white flesh and melt-in-the-mouth fennel. The cockles were a bit gritty, but by the time I’d eaten enough to ascertain whether this was a one-off, or a major issue, there were hardly enough left to send them back.

The wine list at Dean Street Townhouse is perfectly sensible, with some more affordable options by both glass and carafe which meant we could happily mix and match to our very different choices of food. We were left for a nice pause after our main courses to chat, survey the room and steadily sip our wine before the temptation of pudding drew us back to the menu. We shared two puddings. The first was an incredible melting middled chocolate fondant, topped with pistachio ice cream which did exactly what it said on the tin. But for me the real winner was hazlenut ice cream with toffee sauce. Dished up in a little silver dish reminiscent of those they used to serve ice cream bombes in at Pizza Express when I was little (don’t know what triggered that memory!), this was a sweet, creamy, grown-up version of a childhood treat with a little jug of butterscotch sauce so sweet it made your teeth itch.  Topped with rich whipped cream it was the kind of shared pudding that makes you eat twice as fast as normal to make sure your other half doesn’t get all the good bits. Or is that just me?

After dinner we retired to our room and ordered up cocktails on room service in a moment of ultimate decadence. The perfect end to a perfect evening. If you’re looking for a little romance, and some delicious food thrown into the mix, Dean Street Townhouse is the perfect spot. I’ve already found the man I love, but this is just the beginning of my Soho House affair.

Dean_Street_Bedroom

Dean Street Townhouse bedroom

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