Tuesday, April 17, 2012

Back to proper restaurants... and London

He says...

On an initial glance, the prime number SEVEN springs up rich pickings, coming as it does with its connotations of good fortune, the days of the week and Gwyneth Paltrow’s head in a box.  

And appropriately, my first finding is yankee diner Lucky7 in London’s fashionable Westbourne Park, which looks pretty groovy, but seems to only serve breakfasts and burgers. The burgers look good, but would surely be nothing on the bison burgers served at Ted’s Montana Grill in Atlanta, which were the unadulterated taste of evil.

Then we come to the ably-named Seven in Richmond, which serves Afghan, Lebanese and Turkish delicacies, a cuisine I’m still bored with since Restaurant 2. However, I love all the different spellings of humus, and Seven’s version, ‘HOMUS’ is particularly good. They also serve ‘SALADZ’ – street style!

The Hawksmoor Seven Dials is a rather good place for slabs of cow but the name is a bit of a cheat and I’ve already been there anyway.

There’s also Seven at Brixton (Does this pose a copyright issue to Seven in Richmond?) which is one of those open air bars in the market where you sit pretending you’re not freezing your nuts off. Cocktails are served in teacups (all very cool with certain types not so long ago) and food is served on sticks. All food will be served on sticks in the future so that it doesn’t blow away on as we fly along on our hoverpods.

We ate beefhearts on a stick last weekend at Soho Peruvian restaurant Ceviche - sadly they didn’t come with a potato firmly stuck on the end to keep them in place, like they did in Cusco.

But I’m feeling intrigued by the wankily sumptuous Seven Park Place by William Drabble. I’ve never heard of William but it sounds like I should have. It has one Michelin Star and a ‘gourmand menu’ that ploughs through intriguing treats like ‘Seared foie gras with tart tatin of endive and blood orange’ and ‘Roasted chicken wings with potato gnocchi, chicken emulsion and morel mushrooms’.

I reckon the amuse bouche will be green… or maybe blue.

Sunday, April 15, 2012

SIX : Chez Mum & Dad

She says....

Problem solved!

Whilst visiting the parentals, Mum, inadvertently, found us restaurant #6. The chef is revered across Europe (well she's been heard of in Switzerland at least) the atmosphere is known to be homely with a slight chintzy 70's vibe. Basically we realised that my parents live at #6 and as mum was going to cook us dinner on the night of the 6th April it was all just too happy a co-incidence to ignore.

So, much to my mum's horror, we decided to review her Good Friday meal.


First up a smooth and sweet butternut squash soup. Having seen it in a carton in the fridge earlier I can't pretend it was homemade, but points for choosing such a tasty, healthy version from all the posh 'fresh' soups now on offer.  Have always wondered how something with a sell-by-date at least 2 weeks ahead can claim to be fresh, but, in line with my middle class pretentions, I'm still easily sucked into paying double for the chilled one over the Heinz in the tin.

Onto the main course and respect is due to my mum for cooking something I would never order in a restaurant. Unlikely, in fact, to even see on a restaurant menu these days. Gammon. Cooked just tender enough and hacked zealously by my dad into rough chunky slices. Definitely not bland shop bought meat here. Piles of unadorned veg and mashed potato filled the plate up, and parsley sauce (no me neither, but apparently it is traditional with gammon) finished it off.

Praise must go to my dad for raiding the wine rack and getting us royally pissed. A full-bodied Chardonnay with the soup and a light French red with the gammon. Neither over £6 from the local supermarket I'd wager, but none the worse for that. I think he'd had instructions from mum to keep us topped up to ensure a good review.






The finale was the 'from scratch rhubarb' crumble. Rhubarb is one of those things I've grown into and, along with spinach and mushrooms, where once I would have gagged trying to swallow an enforced mouthful, I now absolutely favour it over many other foods. Add a dollop of low fat yoghurt (not homemade, we don't live on a farm, after all) and the, perhaps slightly 70's, meal was complete.

More wine, a slice of home-crafted Victoria sponge, a snifter of whiskey and a game of Trivial Pursuits later and I was rolling into bed rather pleased with our evening chez Mum & Dad.

Restaurant #6 = 10/10





He says....


Reviewing Katherine’s parents’ home cooking may seem to be crossing a new vanguard in pointlessness in a blog already rich in futility. But the fact that we were residing at a number six on a mystery street (somewhere in the North of England) on the sixth of April did seem to provide a certain unavoidable synchronicity.

Kat attempted to keep the night’s menu a secret from me until we sat down in the dining room (a room I had previously not known existed, despite this being my fourth visit to their household). 
 
But sadly the meal was revealed to me as I attempted to get some warm water out of the temperamental family shower. Geoff* shouted up the stairs, asking which wine she’d like with the gammon. Her response, ‘a light red’, seemed to leave Geoff temporarily befuddled as he consulted his wine rack.

But what can I possibly say of the meal, prepared by the fair hands of Susan*, mother of Kat? Only that the freshly-carved slices of gammon were juicy and in plentiful supply; the mashed potato surely as fluffy and creamy as anything prepared by the pretentious hands of Heston Blumenthal; and as for the parsley sauce, the admiring smile on my face bore witness to the piquancy contained within that delicate jug.

The conversation flowed as effortlessly as the bread rolls, but did not distract me from requesting seconds, as all good men visiting his girlfriend's family should do.

The dessert was that classic of mum-cooking, the rhubarb crumble, and it did not fail to impress, beating the one we ate with my own dad in Hammersmith’s The Dove two days later, hands down. The only reflection I’d make would be that Susan’s crumble would have been even more mouth-watering if it had been warmed up, in order to better unlock its delicious flavours. But that is only a suggestion and not in any way meant as a criticism. Oh, no.

The night was completed by Matt and Kat being beaten hands down by Geoff and Susan at Trivial Pursuit, in a game which did nothing for the image of cultured intelligence I was attempting to cultivate with the family.


*Names changed to protect the Internet-paranoid


Restaurant #6 = 11/10 at least