Archive | September, 2011

Hawksmoor: Serious Steak at Seven Dials

21 Sep

No meat is seen as more macho than steak. Where there is steak you will find men in suits drawn inexorably as if to Helen of Troy.
Yet, this characterisation is a pity for all concerned, especially the women of the world. For a great steak is a thing of universal beauty. Tender, primal. You can tell it’s one of the finer things in life because of how little you need to do to appreciate it. Simply season it and you could eat it raw ( You could eat it without seasoning, but why debase yourself so?). The mere application of a raging heat is enough to elevate it to one of the great foods. Yet tragically, despite having some of the best beef in the world, England has traditionally be seen as lacking a steak restaurant worth talking about, at least in positive terms.

Nowadays London’s pantheon of steak has two main contenders: Goodman and Hawksmoor. Both have slightly distinct vibes but are united by one thing; Consistently providing meaty, rich slabs of excellent steak.

Of the two, Hawksmoor is the slightly punkier younger cousin a fact reflected in its original east London location. As they grow older and more successful they, as is often the case, are moving into slightly more upmarket surroundings, with a branch in Seven Dials and a third planned for the Guildhall.

I made my trip to their slightly swankier Seven Dials location. The restaurant itself is situated in the old Truman’s Brewery, the last remnants of which are the imposing pillars that own the dining room like towering sentinels. The entrance is unassuming but quietly confident and with good reason. From the reception you are lead down some stairs into the bar. This is fitted out like an old school gentleman’s club, all wood and brass. Your face lights up upon entering as you can just tell that everybody here is having a good time. The buzz of contentment hangs heavy in the air.

Doing my best to reinforce stereotypes I had come with three male friends. We began with a round of cocktails to kick off the proceedings. Being stout of heart I went for the infamous Zombie. Consisting of three different rums, absinthe, falernum, grapefruit and lime juice, topped with a Navy Rum float. This is not a drink for the faint of heart or those with a meeting the next day. My decision was justified by the beast that was carried to the table, accompanied by a barman whose “I’m sorry sir, but this should be on fire” ranks as of one of my all time favourite utterances in a restaurant.

We plumped for the express menu (2 courses for £20, three for £22.50), which in my opinion was a steal. The starting salad was well executed but nothing particularly remarkable. If I were going for two courses, I would go for steak and pudding rather than the salad.

After the cocktails and salad we cracked into some bottles of wine, taking advantage of the 5 quid corkage on Mondays. This was only interrupted by the arrival of the main event, 250g of Longhorn rib eye, accompanied by triple cooked chips, the sort that weigh on the mind for days after. The taste sometimes recalls itself to my lips unbidden, causing a smile to break out on my face. Hot, crisp, and all sorts of fun.

The steak itself was everything expected. If my death was to bring someone this much satisfaction I would die at peace. Well-rested after its journey on the Josper, rare but not too bloody. A lot has been said about the Hawksmoor steak, all of it justified. One of the best steaks I have ever had and an embarrassment to so many over cooked and underhung supermarket slabs of beef.

We were originally going to give the puddings a miss, but when it came to it we were enjoying ourselves so much it seemed churlish to refuse. Cornflake ice cream caught my eye, with its echo of Momofuku’s cereal milk ice cream. The waiter told me that it was brought in rather than made on site but that it was still excellent. He was right. Soft, yielding ice cream with crisp cornflake clusters was a perfect way to tend the meal.

At this point I must extend my personal thanks to Will Beckett. Last time I went service slipped somewhat, and he went out of his way to make up for it this time, providing complimentary drink with an unexpected round of cocktails to finish.  I must confess I can’t remember what they were as by this time the zombie and the red wine had their way with my mental faculties. Suffice to say they were of the same high standard as the rest of the meal.

For me, it is no secret why this place is so successful. It does one thing, and it does it very well. Yet what makes it special is that it manages to appeal to both city boys and foodies as well as retaining its trendy east London origins. In my mind, you haven’t had steak till you’ve had Hawksmoor.



Pips’ Dishes at the Marquis

15 Sep

This is a short post to pimp a project I am involved in. For the next three weeks I am helping to cook and run a pop up in a pub in Canonbury with Philip Dundas of .

I donned my chef’s whites for the first time yesterday and I have to say it felt good. We cooked for 25 people which is tiny by restaurant standards but almost double the number I’ve ever cooked for before. Everything went fairly smoothly thanks in part to the new chef who will be taking over when we ship out. Formerly of Graze in Brighton, I’m looking forward to seeing what he does in a more relaxed setting. You should expect a review soon.

The food we did was simple but well executed (even if I do say so myself). Starting with fish cakes and tartare it was exhilarating to be cooking to such tight deadlines and even more so seeing the food actually go out.

We followed with two full loins of roast venison marinated in Chorizo and lemon. This dish was the subject of much discussion as my fellow chef Pip had thought it a fairly original flavour combination before discovering that many on the internet had already done it before us. Carving the meat and plating it in the dining room was slightly nerve wracking but I was surprised to see myself plating stuff without any massive disasters occurring.

The  ice cream we had intended for dessert had to be served as a sauce with some meringue due to a failure with our robot coupe (I have a robot coupe!) Some quick thinking saved us and it all turned out well.

The menu itself changes each night, with a hake with romesco for our main and roasted peaches and cream for pudding this evening. Over the next couple of weeks I’m going to be debuting my new and improved onion soup as well as trying my hand at making a terrine. Coming up we also have a nice belly of pork from Peter Gott of Sillfield, one of my favourite farmers.

I’ll also be blogging my experiences from the kitchen so keep checking for a insight into how running a pop up works with hopefully not too many disasters among the way.

Bit of a shameless plug:

You can book through Three courses, £25. Weds-sat till October the 2nd. Get involved

The Yanks are coming: Byron’s Uncle Sam Burger

9 Sep

The internet has been responsible for many changes to the way society works. Previously people’s obsessions and quirks were kept guarded. Depending on how left of field it was, some people resorted to visiting shrinks, but there was no major outlet for the monomaniac among us. You just didn’t talk about that sort of thing.

Now however, there are forums for that sort of thing. People gather to reassure and goad each other on to new heights of obsession and depravity. Whilst this, as with so much in life, mainly focuses around sexual fetishes, food has not escaped this fate.

Discussions such as ‘The best burger in town” or “When did Ranch dressing take over the world?” can be found on sites such as,Eater or Chowhound to mention some of the bigger American ones. Yet in London the discussion seems to be firmly centered on twitter. Having been scornful of it before I started blogging, I now spend far too much of my time on it talking about food.A chance tweet offered the opportunity to get involved with a ‘burgerswarm’ and I signed up immediately.

This is how I found myself arriving at a pub off the Strand to meet a load of people from the internet and eat burgers with them. We got chatting and it was clear I was in good company from the oohs over some custom St Johns burger buns somebody had brought with them. My kind of people, as the rich say.

Arriving at the Covent Garden Byron it seemed fitting that we were led downstairs away from the punters proper. Tom Byng, the owner of Byron was behind the bar shaking up a Bull’s blood to kick everybody off. This was consisted of vodka, Worcester sauce, Tabasco, lemon juice, tomato juice and beef bouillon. A beefy bloody Mary that went down well and prompted a conversation about drinking gravy. Like I said, my kind of people.

Whilst I was savouring this, my eyes were drawn by the American craft beers. I had an conversation with the bartender, a fellow enthusiast, and settled on a American Belgian style . Light and golden, it has a bit more character than your average blonde. Apparently frustratingly hard to get hold of, if you see it grab it with both hands.

Ushered further into  our own space, we sat down and began to nibble on some dip and salsa. The salsa was a little reserved in my opinion, solid but lacking kick.

Tom then announced that we would be kicking off the meal with a small burger before making our way onto…another, slightly bigger burger with all the sides. I was more than happy with this plan.

Our Starter (Thanks to Burgerme for the photo)

The first was a three ounce bacon cheeseburger. The bacon was just the right side of crisp and cut into small pieces so it didn’t fall out of the bun. The cheese was top notch, Montgomery s cheddar, one of only three unpasteurized cheddar still made in the traditional way. Normally this is the businesses, but for some reason the taste was lost in the burger storm. The burger itself was juicy and enjoyable. A good start.

The Yank

The Uncle Sam (Thanks again to Burgerme for photo)

Having eaten our first set of burgers, the conversation then naturally turned to burgers we had known and loved. I have never been at a table where a conversation  about the best way to grind and mix hamburgers even got going, let alone went on for over half an hour. These people were serious about their burgers. As the pro on your table, Fred Smith of the Ad Cod pub held court whist we talked techniques and cuts.

This conversation was only interrupted by the arrival of the main event. The Uncle Sam. If the other burger was English, this bruiser was all American through and through, think Tom Cruise in Top Gun but with less flight overalls. Best imagined as a pimped up big mac in terms of flavour profile. Slightly sweet due to the dill pickles, a soft bun and a juicy juicy patty. The plethora of sides was almost too much. Almost being the operative word, as I continued to cram sweet potato fries into my mouth long after I should have stopped.

It would be remiss if I didn’t mention the service which excellent and extremely friendly. I think the staff were slightly scared by the huge number of cameras on show which made the table feel like a burger based red carpet at times. They were intrigued to realise that we all knew each other from the internet.I had to abscond from the madness relatively early and felt real disappointment at doing so, a testament to how nice everybody was.

For me Byron is an example of a chain done right. They care about the food and that shows in the finished product. It isn’t the best burger I have ever had, but it does what it sets out to do, and it does it well. Definitely worth a visit, especially to get your hands wrapped around an Uncle Sam.

A big thanks to gubgub08 and Tom for organizing it and a shout out to the rest of the swarm:

@hayleymudge, @razzbingo, @marispiperbingo, @faerietalefoody, @meat_twoveg, @eatingsoho, @fredsmith_ @joelgershinson, @ladyvelo82, @grobelaar, @theskinnybib, @dave_rowlinson, @danpeters, @aoafoodie, and @Hollyw2277.

Moolis: Not a f***ing buritto. F***ing tasty.

5 Sep
The exterior of Moolis

Moolis before its recent refit

I discovered Moolis as part of a noble quest to eat all of London. When I first arrived in London a year  ago it was incredibly new and exciting. Having spent years reading about restaurants and  knowing that reading was all I would ever do, I was suddenly walking past them on my way to work.

My first weekend in the Big Smoke I went to Moro. Having read the books more times than I dare to count, to be actually eating there was like I had arrived in a culinary oasis. The bread, oh the bread. I remember the slightly unnerved expression of my dining partner as I examined said loaf with a forensic intensity. It was an auspicious start to my London eating.

Yet like any young man, I wanted to discover the new. Stake my own claim. I started work in Covent Garden but given that it is still a bit of a culinary wasteland I was drawn to Soho like a dipsomaniac to the window of Gerry’s. Vibrant and seedy, the area was everything that appeals to me.Having made a decision to eat my way around Soho I chose Moolis first, merely on a whim. The plan was to go once and then try somewhere else.

But that somewhere else always became Moolis. Each time, it was a Moolis that I found myself chomping with gleeful abandon. Then I started dragging other people to have one, like an alcoholic bringing people to the pub so he feels justified draining that second bottle of gin.

Sure, I’ve tried Koya, and I’ve tried Fernandez and Wells, enjoying them both immensely. It’s just it felt like cheating. I’m chronically addicted to the pork Moolis. Moist shredded pork with tiny bombs of juicy pomegranate, wrapped in a roti roll. The salad also serves a purpose in terms of flavour, rather than the often token limp lettuce that serves only to bulk out a meagre filling.

Not a Fucking burrito

Pork Roti. F**k Yeah.

Having worked my way through the menu with a couple of willing friends I can confirm that the rest is equally as good.

The other reason I like Moolis is the fact that the two people who run it, Sam and Matthew seem to be genuinely nice people. On Twitter they are engaging and friendly rather than simply spamming promotions, creating that sense of personality and identity that is so crucial for any independent.

I’ll keep my advice simple. Run to Moolis. Buy a Mooli’s. Eat a Moolis. Run skipping back down the street with a great big smile on your face.