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 ...

Baltic: I've been expecting you ...

Shouldn't be such a secret service.

The first thing that strikes you about Baltic is its size. From the subsiding townhouse exterior you would never expect the voluminous dining hall it opens up into. Tables stretch off into the distance and the ceiling is so high you half expect to look up and see clouds.

As is always the case when I go to review a restaurant, it was completely empty. It felt like a church with its peaked roof, puritan decor and whispered ambience. However, there was nothing holy about our eastern European waiter. Clean shaven and well presented from a distance, a closer look showed bags under his eyes and a haunted look, as if the days of Soviet rule still haunted him, and he expected the KGB to jump out and lynch him for reaching the West.

Given that there was hardly a lunchtime rush, I was confused as to how a Bond villain of a waiter could look so tired, but his passion and knowledge of the extensive vodka menu gave me some clue.

He was, in fact, the perfect host. His dry wit had us in stitches and he knew the menu inside out. To his disappointment however, we all went for the set menu. He went off muttering, to his secret hide out, no doubt to press the launch button on his nuclear rocket. The problem is, you would be a fool not to take the set menu, since it costs a very reasonable £17.50 and the main courses on their own are £13-17 each.

He was also sad he could not convince us to sample the enormous vodka menu – it was a working lunch – and so with half a carafe of the fruity house red, I ordered the cheese and wild mushroom dumplings. They resembled gnocci, but the texture was much more rubbery and the fried edges gave it a smokier taste and crispier skin.

It was a healthy portion that made me apprehensive about the size of my main, especially given I had asked for a side of chive mash. My skin-on chicken with bacon, chard and chilli in a creamy sauce was cooked well enough – the skin was crispy and the spicy zip complemented the salty lardons. However, I was left wondering how authentic the dish was, given that none of the ingredients (save the chicken) were native to any of the Baltic states. If it weren’t for the chilli, it could have been a creamy chicken dish from any cuisine in the world.

The same could not be said for the pudding, once you get over the fact that it was crème brulee. At the bottom of the dish were eight vodka-soaked cherries. Thankfully the alcoholic bite had been slightly cooked off, and it was instead a hint of savoury kick in the sweet cream. It was a shame that they had also burnt the sugar a little over-zealously, and the odd mouthful combined vodka, cherries and burnt caramel, which was by no means pleasant.

It is a sad fact that the meal peaked with the starter, but the service was warm and the ambience relaxing enough to make it a welcome break from a stuffy office. With a complete lack of pretence and a very cheap set menu offering, it is well worth a lunch visit. Just don’t wear a tuxedo or order a martini. It may be the last thing you ever do.

74 Blackfriars Road, SE1 8AH

020 7928 1111

http://www.balticrestaurant.co.uk/

   

Hail the Lord Nelson: the recession is over!

The best pub is Southwark. bar none.

Everyone rejoice. The recession is over. Lehman is but a ghost. The bankers are forgiven and the politicians aquitted. Europe can stop wringing its hands and Greece should stop crying and go back to investing in hummus.

The most important gauge of fiscal health, the Lord Nelson pub in Southwark, has withdrawn its recession menu. Gone are my happy lunchtimes with a pint of Holstens and fish-finger sandwich for £6.

The Lord Nelson has to be the quirkiest pub in London. It juts out of a horrid 1960s social housing block almost onto the road, as if daring you to enter. Its ceiling is adorned with upside down trolls, the bar is guarded by stuffed dead squirrels called David and Nick, and its menu has more dishes than Debenhams.

To be honest, its just standard pub grub, but it is homemade in the truest sense. The chips are cut unevenly, the fish-fingers definitely Birds Eye, and the plates too small to fit the portions. But so much food is about style, about atmosphere and care, and the Lord Nelson has all these things in spades.

And not a numbered wooden spoon in sight. Even in this, the second "boom" of the 21^st century, you can effectively buy all you can eat for less than a tenner. The effect is not just tasty and filling, but comforting. You can even pop your head into the kitchens to see the fat chef toiling away to Radio One, wondering whether it’s all worth it and what happened to Mark and Lard in the afternoon.

No one can afford the boom time. Not even the banks. Essentially, when economists talks about the “cyclical nature of the market”, all they mean is that the banks all borrowed from each other (boom), and then remember they had to pay it back (bust). And I’m left counting out that extra two pounds for my fish-finger sandwich, cursing Keynes but paying without a second’s hesitation.

No one can afford the boom time, but we’ll always pay up in the end.

243 Union St

London

SE1 0LR

Website: who needs a website?!

The Laughing Gravy: secret's out.

I hate it when a restaurant calls itself "London's best kept secret". It isn't really is it? Because the only way of keeping a very prominent restaurant on Blackfriars Road a secret is to take out an injunction against everyone who walks past it. Ask Ryan Giggs if superinjunctions work.

It is in fact an excuse to not hire a PR company, hence why I had to pay for this particular meal. Fortunately the Laughing Gravy is excellent value, even if a glance at the menu makes it seem expensive. The starters are all around £8, but could be stretched to a main course, and my chicken liver pate with a delicious sultana jelly also had my salt content for the day and probably the weekend too.

You can order a burger and chips for £10, or a salad for roughly the same price, or you can have their more complicated meals for around £15. I chose the special: scallops with bacon and crispy fried vegetables. The classic dish was given a lift by the lemongrass, which cut through when you least expected it. The portion was huge, but I still managed to eat two helpings of garlic Parmentier potatoes, with emphasis on the garlic.

The red mullet with prawns and samphire looked fantastic too, and the steak...

Oh the steak. Shallots, mushrooms, roasted cherry tomatoes, Madeira sauce and garlic butter. I am kept awake by the fact that I didn't choose it.

For pudding I had an excellent chocolate fondant, baked to a crisp on the outside and so nearly gooey on the inside, but not quite. The salted toffee ice cream on top was brilliant though. It stopped the dish from being overwhelmingly sweet, and made me salivate to the point of embarrassment.

All the dishes had one touch that made it a cut above most British cuisine, certainly south of the river. The unimposing and light decor, huge portions and friendly but awkward staff made for an even more British experience.

Despite their veil of secrecy, the restaurant was busy for an early Friday lunch sitting. At every table suited city workers loosened their ties as the sun beat down through the glass ceiling. Get to the courts Laughing Gravy men, the secret is out.

www.laughinggravy.co.uk
154 Blackfriars Road, London SE1 8EN
020 7998 1707

   

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