Champor Champor: how to get malayed

Hit and miss but worth the trip.

Champor Champor is not for purists. Apparently.

Who are these purists? What makes them search for purity in a world where there is no such thing? Not in cuisine anyway. No culture is unchanged by the comings and goings of foreign influence, and food is a manifestation of that. Would purists be happy with the fact that a vital part of Thai cuisine is the French baton?

You can’t buy a sandwich at Champor Champor, but we did start with banana bread. Once the novelty of it was over I was left wondering  what the point of it was. It dirtied the palate, went badly with the other “antipasti” – a sweet and sour spoonful of relish and spicy guacamole on cucumber – and made no sense in the context of the rest of the menu. And I’m no purist.

My companion and I spent so much time contemplating the meaning of the banana bread that it took us almost 20 minutes to decide on our food. Normally this wouldn’t be such an issue, especially as the restaurant was almost empty. However, in a fit of romanticism I had booked the mezzanine table, which sits by the window and on a level much higher than the restaurant floor. It is a beautiful table, enshrined in an ornately carved wooden box that gives the impression you are dining in a four-poster bed. Popular as it is with the diners, it must infuriate staff, who are unable to check on the diners without popping their head around the corner like a mother keeping an eye on her teenage son with a girl in his room.

This strangely voyeuristic act repeated itself three time during the first course, which somewhat put me off my sliced duck with tamarind sauce and a sweet potato mascarpone. The duck was also a little chewy, but the sweet potato was smooth and delicious.

The main course was chosen for me by the waiter, who had tired of hovering around corners and quite rightly started to chivvy us along. He selected his favourite item on the menu, beef sirloin with fresh green peppercorns, krachai (wild ginger) and lemongrass, which was excellent. However, sadly the French influence did not reach the steak, and it was overcooked. My companion’s duck soup (technically clay-pot salted duck leg with shitake mushroom and spring onion; Jasmine rice and water chestnut in lotus leaf) was tasty enough, but a little too salty and lacking any flair.

Flair was not lacking from the chocolate, chilli and jaggery cheesecake, however.  Another thing not missing was the chilli, which caught me on the back of the throat, causing me to sound like Rod Stewart for the remainder of the meal.

It was hard to leave such a charming place, even if the food was at times mediocre. Ownership recently changed hands and the decor has been scaled back. The ornaments and features that used to adorn the walls have been stripped. Many would prefer the more airy atmosphere, but I think it has lost a little of its charm. It’s still a wonderful place to take a date, especially if you can book the mezzanine, but for me the fireworks were with my guest, not the food.

62-64 Weston Street
London SE1 3QJ
http://www.champor-champor.com

   

Eat: souper?

No snobbery, just good soups.

I don't understand people who bring in sandwiches to work. If you are desperately close to losing your house, or owe a lot of money to some very bad people, sure. But there is no justification for putting yourself through cheese and dry bread hell when you can pop out to a decent cafe and get something better.

That didn't always used to be possible. Some of the more secondary business parks still rely on Frank's burger van. But even his livelihood is under threat now, because of the rise of "gastro-coffee shop" (my term).

Starbucks, Costa, Cafe Nero... they all offer proper lunch now: wrapped-up sandwiches the likes of which only used to be seen in a Hampstead delhi; pastries that have left Patisserie Valerie wanting to change her name; cookies the size of plates. Oh, and bad coffee.

But these are expensive. Very expensive. So the  "coffee-house bistro" reared its head. Eat, Pret and Pod all offer sandwiches to rival Borough market; cakes that make Konditor & Cook squabble between themselves; even hot meals that are, if nothing else, hot. Oh, and shit coffee.

I used to think Eat was expensive too. Their salads are around £4.50, which is a lot for some over-cooked prawns, limp lettuce leaves and sweet chilli sauce. But then I tried the soups.

Some of them are extraordinary. They top their chicken and mushroom cream soup with flaky pastry; their sweet potato and chilli soup is like a hug in a mug; their chicken laksa spicy, sweet and fresh. They even manage to bat the classic cream of chicken out of the park. They must have a repertoire of 20 or so soups, which rotate weekly.

You don't expect to walk into their cold, clinical units and receive food of this quality. At my local Eat they leave the door open constantly, letting the winter wind whip right through to the back door. It's irritating, but it has a certain effect. People huddle over the their soups for warmth, which is kind of the way that's how soup should be enjoyed. Cradling the tub with fingerless gloves, enjoying the rising steam and inhaling the scent like you're in Bisto advert.

There are flaws of course. The Chicken Pot Pie pastry is impossible to eat with a spoon, it is usually served just a little too cold and the descriptions are infuriating - they serve an "Eat classic" every day.

But it's all so reasonably priced. The large, which is about a pint, is only £4.35 but the smallest is barely over £3, and for a few pence you can get a doorstop of bread to make sure that, if the small spoons didn't manage it, you'll dribble soup all down your chin.

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/

   

Bistro du Vin: take a tip from me

Sorry. I tripped about the tip.

So waiters don't get paid much. I know this because I've been one. But the thing is, most of them don't deserve any more. I didn't. I dropped a steak knife on a child's leg once and still got 10%.

It's totally bonkers. The nation is up in arms about bankers being given bonuses when they lose the equivalent of Luxembourg's GDP in one day, and yet I can serve a numblingly average meal and scar a child's thigh, and get a bonus without anyone batting an eye lid. Maybe the two scales aren't quite comparable, but the principles are.

And so, after a perfectly decent meal at the perfectly overpriced Bistro du Vin in Soho, I was furious to find that, with no warning whatsoever, a 12.5% tip had been added to our bill. Given that there were seven of us, and we spent £200, that was quite the tip.

To be fair the service was excellent. We never had an empty glass, there was always someone waiting to help if we had a question, and the food came pretty quickly. And when it did it was very good. I had gnocci in a goat's cheese sauce (the ingredients of which seemed to be just goat's cheese and heat) with wild mushrooms (rather than battery...?), which was nice enough, even if the gnocci stuck to the roof of my mouth more effectively than Fixodent. My friend's butternut squash ravioli, however, was sweet, subtle and cooked to perfection - al dente like the Italians do it so the pasta doesn't have the texture of an oyster. In fact, I forced my friend to trade dishes with me half way through. But then, at £14.50, I expected something in a different league to Tesco's £1.99 ravioli. And gun to my head I'd have to say I didn't really.

I should stop taking cheap shots. I didn't mind the prices, even the house wine at £18.50, and I probably wouldn't have found the tip quite so irksome if it hadn't taken the waiter 20 minutes to collect the money after handing us the bill - and if they hadn't come back to tell us we were 85p short.

Unlike the food, that seemed a little cheap.

36 Dean Street
Soho
London

http://www.bistroduvinandbar.com/
0207 4324 800

Lowndes Bar and Kitchen: torte a lesson

Only worth it if they bring it up to your room.

You know you’re in a Knightsbridge restaurant when you pop outside to take a phone call and find yourself stood next to a Lamborghini Diablo with Monaco number plates. Of course, the fact that you got off the Tube at Knightsbridge and then went to a restaurant just five minutes down the road will also give the game away.

Being a north-London boy I wouldn’t generally make the trip past central London and back out the other side. Knightsbridge and Kensington restaurants tend to be overpriced, aimed as they are at the rich residents and even richer tourists.

And it is these happy-to-pay-£230-a-night tourists that I dined with on Thursday night at the newly opened Lowndes Bar & Kitchen, which is attached to the five-star Jurmeirah Hotel.

It certainly had five-star furnishings, although the fact they were so new gave the room a slightly clinical feel. They had also made the huge mistake of lining the walls with American diner-style settees, which meant that when I leant back I was no less than a metre and a half from my companion and could hardly hear what she was saying over the muzak.

Not that I needed to talk to her. The restaurant itself was entertaining enough. The English of one waiter wasn’t quite good enough to explain to a hotel guest that he couldn’t be served food in the bar seating, our waitress couldn’t open our bottle of Rioja (I really need to branch out) and we had to make an late night call to their PR to prove we were on a review and didn’t have to pay the £110 food bill.

Which brings me to the meal, which was only remarkable for the price. A burger would set you back a staggering £15 and was the cheapest meal on the menu. Looking back I wish I’d tried it so I knew what a £15 burger tastes like, but I think I’d have been disappointed.  

But first I had the world’s smallest scallops – none of which were more than 2cm wide – in a saffron mayonnaise, accompanied by a solitary piece of salad garnish. Had there been a few more, or the scallops less anorexic, it would have been a nice dish.

Ignoring the temptation of a burger I had the duck (£18.50) with a redcurrant jus and sweet potato mash. The latter tasted like it had been boiled in tea, which while not unpleasant didn’t suit the sweet jus at all. The duck was a nice bit of meat but, despite being warned it was served medium rare, it was more the other side of medium and therefore a tad stringy.

My chocolate torte (the waitress’s recommendation) was no better than something out of a tin, although the ice cream was excellent. I hope this was homemade, or else  Cart D’or is nicer than I remember.

So thoroughly unremarkable, completely overpriced and lacking in atmosphere. If you can afford the rooms, you can afford the food, but only as a last resort because in central London, you will always be within 10 minutes walk of a much better meal and a fuller wallet.

   

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 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/