Livebait: caught in the net

RIP.

Just before Christmas I met one of the 2.67 million unemployed people in the UK. I must have met hundreds - the Daily Mail envisages them walking around the country like zombies in a horror film - but I saw the real impact of it at Livebait on the Cut in Waterloo.

Why was an unemployed person eating on one of the trendiest streets on south London, I hear you ask. They weren't. It was the waiter who was unemployed, or soon to be. Livebait is no more, their website is now a white scar on the internet. It seemed that our waiter had been informed of this that very day, and during the meal we watched a man slowly fall to pieces. It was like a TV dinner that got a little too real.

The whole situation was mad. We actually had to wait thirty minutes for a table, which is not the usual sign of a restaurant going into liquidation. After retreating to a nearby spanish bar, we returned a little the worse for wear, and more than little giggly, after an ill-advised margarita and crossword race. We were confronted by a sweaty, middle-aged man, rushed off his feat and on the verge of tears.

Once seated we failed to flag down any service for a good 10 minutes, and were on the verge of giving up and leaving when he came rushing over and collapsed to his knees at our side as if praying. With the table taking his weight, he took a deep breath and said:

"So it is easier to explain what we do have on the menu than what we don't. Our suppliers have stopped delivering, half our staff aren't working and I will very soon not have a job."

So we set about the task of choosing between scampi, cod and plaice (that was it) and contemplating the situation.The waiter was crying, the menu had more dishes crossed out than not, and the specials board looked like a child with ADHD had been set lines and wondered off. We decided to stay, partly because it was now 9pm, but more because we didn't want to be the trigger that caused our poor waiter to kill himself.

The food was rather irrelevant by this point - and, given the amount and speed of the margaritas, my memory is sketchy. The wine was drinkable, the food good - although the chips were a little too chip-shop soggy to be served in a mid-market fish restaurant. I struggled to see why this poor man has been put in this position - busy restaurants should not fail, even if the decor has more in common with a kitchen show room than an eatery.

But as the meal went on we created a sense of camaraderie, and thoroughly enjoyed ourselves. So why has it failed? Being a chain, our increasingly honest (and possibly drunk) waiter assured us his was the most profitable branch and that they had been let down by the failures of others. I wouldn't blame the people in the restaurants. There will always be a market for good fish and chips, which is what Livebait served, and the fact we waited long enough to put away eight shots of tequila is testament to that.

Livebait was a good restaurant, albeit built on an industry beset by environmental and economic issues. Evidently it proved too much, despite the demand. Our waiter, like so many unemployed people, was a (sweaty) dolphin caught in the net - although it didn't help he forgot to charge for our starter.

So, if a man feels he has to deliver the specials in the prayer position, tip well. And pray for him.

I would give the location, but I guess it doesn't matter where it is now ...

The Vine: Big Friendly Gastropub (BFG)

Six months ago there were demolition signs tacked onto wire fencing around the Vine. Stood at the grotty end of Kentish Town, far away from the teeming millions of Camden, it seemed inevitable that a clean-cut gastropub would struggle.

How wrong I was. Behind the wire fence and safety helmet signs it was being reborn with leather corner settees, fake crystal chandeliers and as much wood and bare brick as is structurally sound. It also boasts a comfy seated outside area, complete with European-style cafe umbrellas. As we sat and supped our rioja and watched the sun set, even the road that passes just ten feet away seemed silent and distant.

The backroom dining area is a huge, high-ceiling cylinder. It reminded me of the scene where the BFG dines with the Queen, shovelling whole plates of bacon and eggs into his mouth. The effect is an airy atmosphere, emphasised by the fact that the restaurant was nigh-on empty, that falls just the right side of modern gastropub design. In an attempt at tradition, the wine list was written on a blackboard. It was not exactly extensive, but hopefully being in chalk means it is changed regularly. Our Rioja Muscat got rather heavy after two bottles, but it is a compliment that we got that far.

The starter of grilled mussels with garlic, Parmesan and more garlic was delicious, and ensured that my companion and I were left alone for the rest of the meal. In fact, even while sharing the pudding I got the odd wave of garlic, which did little to improve the sticky toffee pudding.

The flavours of the main course were strong enough to hold back the starter though – my perfectly cooked salmon had a gorgeous crispy skin, although the tomatoes in the rocket salad were slightly under-ripe and, horror of horrors, a little too cold compared with the hot salmon.


These flaws are more than forgiveable at pub prices. Sadly, The Vine does not seem to believe in pub prices. Your classic steak will cost you £18.50, a salad at least a tenner, and anything in between ... well ... in between. At these prices you expect a level of perfection above what we experienced, even if the concept of the dishes were spot on.

Say what you will of gastropubs. They lack a little soul, try to be flashy and get caught between a good boozer and an average restaurant, both in price and outlook. But anywhere can be saved with a decent chef, something the Vine absolutely has. Close enough to a restaurant to be worth booking, and not too classy to ignore pub favourites like fish and chips, just accept your Goldfish card will take a battering and enjoy it.

86 Highgate Road, London NW5 1PB

0207 2090038

http://www.thevinenw5.co.uk/

   

Rioja Tapas Fantasticas: what it says on the tin!

Here’s an investment in the future. Next June will be the third Rioja Tapas Fantasticas, a festival that celebrates all that is great and good about Spanish cuisine.

It is held in the shadow of Tower Bridge, in marked contrast to the ultra-modern More London development, which houses more glorified accountants than the London Business School. 


Sectioned off from the rest of the capital and squinting in the rare sunshine we felt as if we were in Spain. Everywhere we looked people supped on 50p samples of reserve, chewed on spicy chorizo or air guitared along to the Spanish guitarist on a stage in the centre.

We had a wonderful chorizo sandwich from the City’s Barcelona Tapas Bar y Restaurante (clever name, si?) and some demonically spicy patatas bravas from More Than Tapas. The highlight however, was the Faustinos gran reserve – which was heavy, complicated but surprisingly free of tannins, making it more drinkable than it had any right to be on a summer day. What is more, my claims that I had drunk it before we found to be correct: you'll find it on the top shelf of Costcutter's wine racks.

From that discovery onwards it all gets a little blurry, so you’ll have to experience the rest of it for yourself. Put it in your diary and Google it next spring. I raise my Rioja: here’s to SEO success and a spate of visitors around about June time next year.


www.riojatapasfantasticas.co.uk/

The Gay Hussar: are you Hungary?

Tired of burnt pans and the endless washing up, I decided this year to eat out on Pancake Day. Hungarian Soho Square Staple The Gay Hussar was offering a special Shrove menu, and mentioned something about deep fried pancakes. I was sold.


Shrove Tuesday is traditionally the day that Christians use up all their food stuffs before the 40-day lent fast. Given the amount of ingredients it used, the Gay Hussar must have a very full pantry indeed.

This may be partly because the restaurant was empty when we arrived. The ambience was more like a library. My companion and I whispered conspiratorially while exchanging guilty glances, worried that a waiter may come and “shh” us. Towards the end of the evening it began to fill, but by then we were too distracted by the glorious food to notice.

The downstairs room is a cosy mix between a living room and train dining carriage. The waiters were friendly and delighted to talk about the food, wine and history of the restaurant. Being just south of Soho Square, it has seen its fair share of the highlife. The walls are adorned with caricatures famous politicians and journalists that have eaten there, a social circle it fully justifies.

Their pancakes are world away from the lemon and sugar creations soon to be stuck to kitchen ceilings throughout the UK. My deep-fried goulash-stuffed pancake was as hearty as any British stew and had a depth of flavour that belied its simple roots, although the veal itself was slightly overpowered by the sauce.

Our bottle of Tokaji Muscat Blanc powered through, however. Its floral nose, sweet start and dry finish cut through the heavy sauces. Hungarian wine is not exactly a staple of restaurant lists, or indeed supermarket shelves, but their white wines are often worth a risk.

For pudding I had the walnut pancakes, made famous by Budapest celebrated restaurant Gundel, after which the pudding is named. The dark chocolate sauce and walnut and rum filling were savoury enough to stop the dish being overwhelming, and the raisins gave short, sharp bursts of sweetness. After such a heavy main however, the second pancake could have easily been replaced by some light cream, to balance the plate. Chocoholics would doubtless disagree.

The menu was traditional, varied and reassuringly expensive. The only flaw I could find was that there was too much on the plate: too much thought, too much food and, sometimes, too many flavours. But in hearty cuisine this is not necessarily a bad thing and I left contented, feeling like I had prepared for a 40-day fast.

www.gayhussar.co.uk (50% off you bill here)
0207 4370 973

2 Greek St, Soho, London. W1D 4NB

   

Dego: Go for the food,stay for the wine

Hearty Italian cuisine is so ubiquitous in London that I’m not sure we really know what it is anymore. And at some points during my meal I think Dego has become confused too.
The modren Italian defies all expectations. Not one aspect of the night failed to surprise me in some way or other. It is laid out more like a chic American diner than a traditional Italian. Customers are seated in rectangular booths with red and black leather, below lamps that pick you out like a soloist in concert.
It is determinedly modern, proven by the square toilet bowls and lack of zeros at the end of the wine prices. After a refreshing gin aperitif we ordered glasses of Verdiccio Castelli, which costs precisely £22.5 per bottle. Its complicated texture saved my overly salty beef roulade starter, which needed more dressing to balance it.
For my main I ordered what turned out to be a duck bolognese. I had expected something a little more subtle, and the menu needs to be more precise. But fortunately I was delighted by the hearty flavours that complemented the meat, which was lighter than duck has any right to be. However, the wine chosen by our helpful sommelier – a gewürztraminer from the Alto-Adige region of Italy – stole the show. Alto-Adige is a German-speaking region of northern Italy, which may explain the heavy, hop-like aroma and finish of the wine that matched beautifully with the duck mince.
I had to wait for the pudding for the food to amaze me. Again, the misleading menu undersold my chocolate, ginger and meringue desert. It was actually a pyramid of set chocolate filled with gooey meringue and caramel bathing in a shockingly spiced ginger sauce that was unique and delicious.
This could not save me from being slightly underwhelmed with the food, even if the prices were reasonable for the portion sizes and quality of ingredients. But the menu has enough on it to make every visit different, and there are sure to be more treasures in there. You should go for the food, but you’ll probably go back for the wine.


www.degowinebar.co.uk
0207 636 2207


Portland House
4 Great Portland street
London W1W 8QJ

   

Imli: what? Indian tapas AGAIN!?

If Sharwood’s is to be believed, whipping up a tasty curry takes 20 minutes and one pan. At Imli they have the same philosophy, but a very different method of going about it.

For a start, most of the menu is in the form of tapas. It is full of small, varied dishes that work as much as a map of India as a three course meal. It takes influences from all over the country, rather than the south-India dominated cuisine served in most curry houses.

Our platters cost around £8, which is brilliant value. It included several sides, a main curry, a field's worth of rice and, of course, a main curry dish. Being the sister restaurant of Tamarind, a certain quality of ingredients and cooking is to be expected, but I was blown away.

Every dish was unlike any other curry dish on any menu in any other curry house. The Papdi Chaat, a sweet yoghurt and wheat crisp salad, was worth the price alone. The lamb fell apart on the fork and the potato and coriander cakes were refreshingly light compared to the heavier dishes.

Combining the philosophy of tapas and Indian food may seem unlikely but, as the head chef Samir Sadekar explained: Indian cuisine is meant to be diverse, and always shared. Although sharing is the last thing on my mind as I tucked in to our lunch platter, the point about having variety on your plate was well made.

http://www.imli.co.uk/ 

0207 287 4243
London W1F 8WR
167-169 Wardour Street

   

Mar I Terra: a welcome change

Tucked in a side street not far from the bustling South Bank, Mar I Terra is worth a visit simply for the peace and quiet. A sense of serenity pervades the whole restaurant – which isn't hard given it is the size of my front room.

We were greeted on entry by some very authentic looking nuns, and things just got quainter. You could reach out and touch just about every other table in the place, the waiter was moustached and paunchy, the food was delivered via a dumb waiter that must have been operated by hand, and the dishes were as rustic as any I have eaten in London.

And they were glorious too. It is hard to amaze a diner with the basic Patatas Bravas, but the garish orange of the sauce and crispness of the potatoes drew me in, and gave me a benchmark against which all potato/tomato based dishes will now be judged. Portions were more than ample, but as is always the case with tapas, you keep eating until the plates are torn from your lifeless, exhausted hands.

The octopus was another highlight, and the rest of the food passed in mist of war as my companions fought over the last of it. The blurriness perhaps helped by the excellent wine selection, which kept us entertained thoughout the meal.

Eating at Mar I Terra is a jarringly intimate experience, but isn't that a refreshing change for London? I heartilty recommend it.

www.mariterra.co.uk/020 7928 7628

14 Gambia Street
Waterloo
London
SE1 0XH