Don’t save it for the next heat wave, an ice-making machine is the coolest thing to have in your kitchen all year round. I try the CASO Clear Ice Advanced, a stylish maker of properly transparent ice.
Years ago, when visiting relatives in America, I was amazed at their icemaker built into the door of their giant fridge freezer. All you had to do was press a lever and a cascade of ice blocks fell out into your glass.
Back in the UK I’ve made do for years with a small ice cube tray jammed into the freezer. It works, but you don’t get many cubes and it takes hours to make some more. I love the luxury of having a glass absolutely crammed with ice cubes, be it a G&T or a glass of water, and with an ice machine you can be as generous as you want. Especially in a heat wave
And the thing is, cocktails and soft drinks aside, having lots of ice cubes is handy for quickly chilling just-cooked veg to keep their vibrant colour, and of course for creating a super impressive shellfish platter.
Plus it’s the easiest way to fill an ice bucket for your wine.
The new CASO Clear Ice Advanced, which we’ve had on test on just the right weekend for it, creates clear ice in 12 minutes (or frosted in 8). Why is clear ice a bonus? Well it looks better in drinks of course, but it actually melts slower than standard ice so keeping drinks cold, whilst not diluting them.
Why are ice cubes usually cloudy? It’s down to physics. Trapped air bubbles get pushed to the middle by fast freezing causing a white core. There’s also some clouding from calcium in our hard water, we found.
The CASO ‘trick’ is that it freezes water from both the interior and the exterior at once, so the air bubbles can escape and leave the ice clear. You end up with cylindrical ice with a hollow centre from where the inside freezing element was located. This makes for rather elegant ice ‘bullets’.
The machine is a reasonable size for most counter tops, CASO does have a more compact version, but that doesn’t make clear ice. This model is matt black inside and out, with the transparent lid tinted dark so it looks smart and rather sexy.
It couldn’t be easier to use. Fill the 1.5ltr tank to the MAX mark – note to CASO, the MAX mark is black on black and I had to use my phone torch to see it, maybe make it a light colour?- choose regular or clear cubes and press Start
Turning it on produces a hum so quiet you have to strain to hear it (48dB), so that’s good. After the time has elapsed you hear a slight crunching noise, and then the first batch of ice rises from the bowels of the machine and gets dumped into the basket in front. This is not a large amount, we counted seven ‘bullets’ of ice, but the first batch seems always to be the smallest, perhaps because the machine is ‘warming up’.
The CASO then starts to make the next batch and will doggedly carry on doing so until the basket is full, or it runs out of water. The stats say it can make 320-350 g of ice per hour or 7.7-8.8 kg in 24 hours. Simple display lights tell you what’s happening.
If you need to drain the machine of water, when not using it for a while, there is a removable rubber plug underneath. It also has a self-cleaning function to purge any stale water.
You really do get a good lot of ice with each cycle. When we used the full 1.5 ltrs of water, we found we actually ended up with far too much ice for our immediate needs, so we filled up a few ziplock bags and put those in our freezer to be used as and when necessary. Worth noting that like all ice machines, the CASO is not a freezer itself and so the ice will melt if left in the basket for too long.
A CASO will be particularly indispensable for summer BBQs, delivering endless freshly made ice for everyone’s drink, while pre made stored bags of ice will be perfect for filling up ice buckets for wine or just to put in buckets to chill beers.
Is it a Ramsay Kitchen Nightmare, or the only place to be seen eating in the City?
I rather like Ramsay, unfashionable though it is to admit it. His US TV programme, where he attempts to save restaurants run by crazy Guidos, is always entertaining, even if the story arc is always the same. Destruction. Penitence. Learning. Success. Tears. Lots of tears.
And I noticed at a press event a while back that he had taken the time to find out something about every one of us. That way he could say something relevant when we were introduced. That kind of attention to detail is what makes successful businesspersons, as well as politicians.
He is a very successful restaurateur of course, his empire stretching from airport food to the finest dining, with everything in between.
Bread Street Kitchens, there are at present eight of them, do what the tin describes as ‘Modern British Classics — Modern British dishes with a twist’. 22 Bishopsgate is undoubtedly the highest of them all, my ears popped as the lift shot us up to floor 59 where, under Executive Head Chef Kamarl Rees John, you can eat lavishly from breakfast to late night dinner.
It shares the enormous space with Lucky Cat, as well as (for me) the modern abomination that is a Sports Bar. They all get an incredible view, although not every table is by a window. Ours is, and it really is breathtaking as the sun goes down to see as far as the Chilterns and look down on the Barbican reduced to model village proportions.
On a Friday evening I rather expect the place to be full of City types, given the location and prices. Instead it’s rather a mixed bag with a lot of Croydon people ( I can say that as I was born and raised in Croydon), so a lot of footballer haircuts, T-shirts and tattoos.
Most of the men are on pints of beer, which I think is a bit odd until I see the wine list. The cheapest (small) glass of wine appears to be £22, while a pint of lager is £7.50. Not a difficult choice to make, then.
Music is playing quite loudly, but it’s also strangely muffled, like the sound of your neighbour having a party when you’re trying to sleep. The nice staff rush around eager to please, which does result in three different people asking if we want water, but it’s early days.
The menu is relatively short with quite an emphasis on steaks, very expensive steaks with impeccable provenance of course. Aged Miguel Vergara Bone In Ribeye (36oz) comes in at £161.50, but if you’re not funding hedges you can get away with Dry Aged Ribeye (10 oz) for just £51.50. Sides will cost you extra.
So we have starters, Seared Tuna, Truffle citrus soy, crispy mushrooms and Lobster & Prawn Toast, Tobiko mayonnaise, salted egg yolk.
The tuna is superb, sashimi grade. I would have liked some more sear on it for texture contrast, two millimetres is about right imho, this has been barely kissed by the grill. The sharp soy is so nice that I take a spoon to it.
Lobster and Prawn toast is basically minced lobster and prawns in a case that’s deep fried. The filling falls out when the case is cut, perhaps it has been too compressed, but it’s a delicious mix that’s accented by Tobiko mayonnaise and salted egg yolk.
I feel that whilst I don’t want steak I do want something OTT and that has to be a 28oz Duroc “Tomahawk” or “cowboy” pork chop at £65. Now that’s a lot of money for a pork chop, but it’s a lot of pork chop for the money. It’s enormous and comes with the bone on the side, real caveman stuff.
Duroc is super pork, the fat is every bit as good as the meat, in the way of Iberican pork. The meat is marbled and moist and pinkly cooked. The exterior is singed beautifully, this has to be the best pork I’ve eaten outside of Spain. The bits still attached to the bone demand gnawing off, but I feel embarrassed doing it,, With it comes a powerful black garlic and walnut purée and a side of mashed potatoes with truffle butter, which is properly decadent.
P is not a steak fancier, she goes for Roasted Cod with potato puree, artichokes, capers and a red wine and tarragon sauce and is well pleased. It’s a lovely hunk of cod, roasting is far more respectful to this fish than smothering it in batter to my mind, and the capers really enhance its flavour. It’s a simple dish in its structure, hard to get right in the cooking. Here it’s impeccable
My chop has cut me down, I can’t do a dessert, so we share a Meyer Lemon Cheesecake with strawberry and basil compote, eschewing that old cliche the Sticky Toffee Pudding. Meyer lemons are a lot less astringent than standard lemons, almost floral and sweet. It’s a touch that elevates the dessert above ‘pub’ level. It’s refreshing too after all that pork fat. I forget to take a picture, though.
It’s all been rather good, the view making it special. The prices are a bit eye-watering, but the place is packed out all the same.
As with Lucky Cat, you’re obliged to leave 22 by the tradesman’s entrance. I wish that could be changed as it’s a bit of a downer, after having dined so high, to find yourself on an industrially lit nondescript staircase leading to a back yard.
Bread Street Kitchen Floor 59, 22 Bishopsgate London EC2N 4AJ
Farnham isn’t that far from London and with food like this it’s well worth the journey, especially with the warmer days arriving and a terrace on the top floor
Farnham is popular with well heeled commuters who desire a country house with real hedges for when they’re all done with hedging funds. I saw a lot of brand new Defenders and Porsches cruising about the surrounding roads as we drove in.
Such people want finer dining and it doesn’t come much finer than The Third Monkey, the new project from chef Adam Fisher (Coworth Park, Pennyhill Park), and his new chef-led gastropub.
The Third Monkey, once the Liberal Club, is handily close to the large town car park and presents itself well on the street, with the inside also being extremely attractive. Some serious money has been very well spent here, from the bar at the front, to the smart dining space at the rear, all the way up to the bar and roof terrace now opening for summer.
This lunchtime it soon fills up. The lunch menu being a big draw, a reasonably priced £32 for three courses. The piped music was a little loud at first, but as the tables filled it became less obtrusive. Mind you, we were sitting right under one of the speakers.
We went a la carte. I wanted to see what the ‘big’ menu had in its locker. Big guns, as it turned out. I genuinely did want everything I saw, apart from the steaks, even if ‘cooked over Japanese embers’
A pre-nibble of Sticky Beef & Bone Marrow Gougère, pickled mushrooms, and truffle custard sounded so good we had one each. Absolutely delicious and gone all too soon. I noticed a man dining alone at the next table ordered two for himself, it obviously wasn’t his first visit. The rich meat and marrow was perfectly cut by the pickled mushrooms, the truffle was subtle and the gougere chewy. Two? I could have eaten a plateful.
Starters proper gave us Spider Crab, squid ink hand-rolled pasta with Sauce Americaine, and a Smoked Devonshire Duck Parfait, potato cigar, pistachio, cherry. The crab was served in its shell, which was a good piece of plating. Very ‘crabby’, which was good and the Sauce Americaine, a classic French sauce for lobster, sang out beautifully. I didn’t see much black in the pasta, but it was well made
The duck parfait was also very well plated, very GBC and more than I usually expect from places out of town, which are often a few years behind the dining curve. It was perfect parfait, rich and flavoursome and almost mousse-like texturally, while the crunch of the potato, plus the bite of the cherry sauce, made for great mouthfuls. This was all very promising for mains.
Iberico Secreto, aka “the butcher’s secret,”is the most prized piece of pork in Spain. It comes from black pigs fed on acorns and is a muscle found between the shoulder blade and the loin. In some ways it has the same mystical properties as beef onglet. Not much of it per beast and it must be eaten rare.
This means it comes to the table pretty pink, which to generations of British diners means ‘run away!’ We have a national habit of overcooking pork out of semi-justifiable paranoia of food poisoning. No worries with secreto. Here it is sliced thinly and beautifully marbled because, just as with Iberican Jamon, the main flavour is in the fat.
A dusting of brown mustard seeds over the secreto gave a popping texture that played well with the soft meat The chorizo and potato croquette was a little leathery on the exterior and the chorizo muted, but the mini porchetta was excellent, most of the fat rendered away but still moist.
Cornish Monkfish, curried mussel velouté, crispy hen’s egg, pomme cocotte, leek was also very good. Curried mussels is a dish I came across in the Charente region of France, they use classic curry powder, not seen in the UK since the 1970s, and it really works well. It made me rather nostalgic for my mum’s curries which, looking back, were otherwise something of a disgrace.
Lovely fish, the crispy egg was like a Scotch Egg without the pork exterior, and the pommes cocotte were beautifully basted in butter. A little bit of foam was visible, which annoys some people but not me. Very fine cooking all round.
Are we sick of Sticky Toffee Pudding in gastropubs? Kind of, but then again it is hard to turn down. Here it’s swimming in salted caramel and wears a‘Baked Alaska’ ice cream like a comedy hat. It is no joke though, the baked Alaska is perfect and so is the pud. The lovely salted caramel was a bit too rich for me, I struggled to finish it, less would have been more.
Lighter was a radically reshaped Lemon and Thyme Cheesecake with honey ice cream, the citrus cleansed the palette and the thyme being slightly lemony itself helped too. The flowers decorated it all very prettily.
We were pretty full by now, sticky toffee pudding always does me in, but we took a breather to check out a very good looking Sunday menu. Specials are also displayed on a board, this week with a bit of an Indian slant, it seemed.
The Third Monkey, in folklore, ‘spoke no evil’, but perhaps the name comes from the third monkey to board Noah’s Ark, he had to fight hard not to be left behind. It seems appropriate, this gastropub is pulling no punches when it comes to excellence.
Guitar god Nigel Tufnell once asked “How much more black can it be? … None. None more black”. I’m looking at K’s chilli chicken cappuccino but replacing black with white. It’s like gazing into an open tin of Dulux, albeit slightly frothier. It’s rather mesmerising.
It’s called New-Age “Cappuccino” Chicken Noodles. The cream is really a topping, and underneath is rich chicken broth and, when stirred, fat noodles break the surface along with portions of roasted chicken. The noodles are hand made, silky smooth and have more bounce than Eeyore. It’s not my dish, but I love the flavours so much that I keep dipping in my spoon, much to K’s annoyance. I love the pricks of chili, just enough to fire up the palate not so much as to extinguish all the other lovely flavours, especially the flavour of roast chicken skin.
Located in the very heart of Chinatown and spread over three (possibly even more floors, these Chinatown buildings are bigger than the Tardis inside) San Hao is a new kid on the Gerrard Street block. It may also be the only one that hasn’t got a staff member outside hassling passers by to come in, instead it relies on word of mouth and a man making Baos in the window, to advertise itself.
Billed as San Hao Noodle Atelier, or ‘workshop’, its avowed aim is to do something different with noodles while respecting tradition and leveraging British produce. It’s the first joint project between Daren Liew (Hakkasan, Duddells, Nanyang Blossom) and the people behind the YiQi, The Eight and Dozo.
It’s modern inside, and the staff have headsets, but I got 90s Deja Vu when they told us to go upstairs just as Won Kei always did back in the day.
The range of inventive noodle dishes, wet and dry, is compact but very tempting. When we get upstairs there are a fair few Chinese, or Chinese heritage, people eating which is a good sign and one man appears to be eating a dinosaur bone in broth, but it’s probably Black Garlic Herbal Pork Bone Soup Noodles.
We share the Four Flavor Bao Platter, and there are four of them. This is not usual as Chinese dining rules usually dictate odd numbers only, which makes sharing fairly – fairly difficult.
Not here though. Each was different, so we picked randomly. All delicious and with “nicely browned bottoms”, as they would gleefully say on Great British Bake Off, no doubt courtesy of the cast iron pot they were cooked in. A side dish of chilli oil was useful.
So I told you about the ‘cappucino’, but what else did we have from an extensive menu? Well we share Salted Egg Salad Cream with Fine Bean – translated as ‘crispy green beans tossed in buttery salted egg glaze’. To be honest, this seems to simply be French beans deep fried in a light batter. I believe the salted duck eggs are supposed to add a savouriness but I don’t detect any or much help from the garlic and chilli. A pleasant dish but underwhelming.
There is a slight lack of heft in my dry noodle dish, Golden Roe Chilli Crab and Salted Prawn as well. Lovely pieces of crab and prawn in a sauce that is tasty but overly sweet for my liking. I expected more saltiness from the roe and the prawn, and the obvious pieces of chili are surprisingly muted, considering the dish’s name.
For a Chinatown place, San Hao seems a bit Western timid in its spicing. Great noodles, just the right bite and the sauce sticks to them lovingly, so perhaps though I should have had Hot ‘n’ Spicy Roasted Yellow Chilli Grouper Noodles?
We don’t have desserts. I rarely do in Chinese (or Indian) places, but the two on offer sound quite interesting.
I like the concept of San Hao, a Chinatown restaurant that’s not offputting to Westerners. It’s clean and crisp looking, and there are plenty of unusual dishes that are clearly explained on the menu. Just as well, as I think we’ve all at some time ordered something from a Chinatown menu that made us feel a bit shocked, if not ready to scream, when it arrived.
Hotel restaurants, when not stand alone specials, can get a bad rep. The challenge is to provide food for everyone of any race, creed or colour. And, of course, their kids. Sycamore has got it right.
Sycamore, is an Italian restaurant at the five-star Middle Eight hotel, Covent Garden. It’s not quite in Covent Garden to be fair, it’s east of the architecturally gruesome Masonic Temple, but it’s only a few minutes walk away and not much further to Theatreland.
It’s a super modern hotel, all glass fronted and with sliding doors that cleverly open just before you crash into them. The bar is very large, an island surrounded by seating, with a ceiling that’s all ducting camouflaged by thousands of gilded sycamore leaves.
It’s a good space, warm and welcoming despite its size. We ate here, as the restaurant proper is at the back and a little less welcoming. Everyone eating was in the bar area and there were a lot of people for a Wednesday. Many were guests, I assume, but all the same it was a good sign.
Real napkins. I know that seems a small thing, but it’s a good sign in my book. They’ve gone for the extra expense of laundry to make the dining a bit classier.
The menu is, obviously, Italian. There’s plenty of choice for starters that range across mushroom arancini with basil aioli; mac and cheese croquettes with marinara sauce;, garlic king prawns with chilli and fresh herbs and more. Small plates, so you could easily make a meal out of these alone. There are pizzas too, of course, but personally I don’t trust restaurant pizzas, I only eat pizzas in pizzerias.
We share chargrilled chicken skewers with lemon, thyme, smoked paprika, and golden calamari with lemon aioli. I always tell myself I won’t order calamari yet again, and yet againI always do. I have some kind of addiction to these things.
These are good, if a little overbattered which makes them quite filling, and a bit more lemon in the mayo wouldn’t have gone amiss.
The chicken skewers are moist, not always the case with grilled chicken, and the paprika spiced mayo swirls are helpful. I do like the pea shoots, still a trendy garnish, the crispy stems a good contrast. As you can see from the photos though, pea shoots got rather a lot of airplay across the meal. I began to wonder if I’d get some on my dessert as well.
I press S not to have steak, not on a review, anyone can cook a steak, but he really insists. Rather an expensive Flat Iron steak, but it’s a good one. Medium rare and well rested so that the pink is smoothed out, and it’s pre sliced against the grain too, which I think makes it always look a bit more interesting as well as easier to eat. Flat Iron is probably the next most tender cut of beef after fillet, with the all important marbling that means flavour.
The smoked salt fries that I repeatedly steal are delicious, and the chimichurri sauce is well made so he doesn’t need to open the little pots of tomato sauce and mayo provided, presumably intended for less sophisticated diners to ruin their chips with.
For me it has to be pasta, and while truffle carbonara tagliatelle with pancetta, cream, and pecorino would have been glamorous, and king prawn linguine, with garlic, chilli, parsley very fancy, I wanted ragu, slow cooked beef ragu with pappardelle.
This is just how it should be, the beef ragged and scrappy from its long cooking and the sauce rich with the smooth wide pasta having absorbed some of it. No parmesan at table, but enough already added and yes, more pea shoots. They must have bought a job lot of them.
Tiramisu to end. Very nicely done, kind of deconstructed and modern, plenty of chocolate, plenty of mascarpone but B all Marsala as far as I can tell. I imagine alcohol is not included because of children, there should be two versions – one for the little darlings and one for grown ups.
Panacotta is wonderfully wobbly and unctuous, we love the vanilla in it and the strawberry sauce and crumbled shortbread are good dance partners. Pea shoots have been replaced by edible flowers and look very pretty.
Conclusion? Hotel guests unwilling or wary of eating out in the wilds of Covent Garden won’t be disappointed, especially if they have kids in tow. A nice classy place with prices within reach especially if you look for daily deals.
It’s also ideal for theatre goers who want to eat something first without being ripped off and still be within easy reach of the show. No need to go full on, three small plates or bites and a glass of wine is £25 which seems very reasonable.
Sunday Roast in the country. You can’t beat it, especially when it’s in a restaurant that knows how to cook beyond the beef. Nick laps it all up
One of the great reasons to live in South London, aside from it not being North London of course, is how easily you can reach the real countryside of Kent. And then carry on to the coast, if you want. Or indeed France.
Fancying a Sunday Roast that wasn’t in a pub overwhelmed by uncontrolled toddlers, while their parents hid behind copies of The Observer, we fired up the planet destroying ICE car and pointed the SatNav to Sevenoaks.
Within a short while of leaving vibrant Brixton, we were barreling down cheerful A roads winding between fields, the car astonished at for once actually making it all the way to fourth gear.
It took just over an hour to reach Sevenoaks, it is only 21 miles from Charing Cross after all, it would have been quicker, but for some Sunday road closures. It’s a pretty little town that has suffered a bit from the plate glass window rash that spread throughout the UK. As someone once said, what’s so exciting about the inside of a Building Society that you want to display it to the street?
Parking is quite easy, if restricted to a few hours, but we managed to get close to Number 8, a 16th century building next to one of the classic old Lloyds Banks and set back from the road to allow al fresco dining in the summer.
Number 8 is run by chef/restaurateur Stuart Gillies with his wife Cecilia, and Stuart is a well-seasoned pro, having run the Gordon Ramsay group globally as MD and then CEO, so you know this is going to be proper and professional. People like to have a pop at Ramsay, but I’ve never had a bad meal at any of his spots.
Inside it is very pleasant, warm and very full, the locals obviously know a good thing and these look like prosperous people used to high quality. I wore my quilted gilet to fit in and it was a good choice. I am not the only one sporting farmer-core fashion today.
Not being a pub, No 8 can offer more interesting starters than your local boozer and we share a gorgeous whipped hummus topped with sesame seeds and chives, scooped up with (slightly oily) toasted focaccia, along with deliciously creamy Iberico ham croquettas on a lively smoked chili salsa.
So the roast, obviously there is beef, aged Chart farm beef to be precise, chicken, mushroom tortellini for the vegetarians, and fish for those not fancying a pure roast.
Which happens to be my wife today, so she goes for seabass, mashed potato, lemon grass coconut sauce and buttered greens, while I go classic on the beef with green veg, roast potatoes, and Yorkshire pudding. And gravy, definitely.
Both are winners, the beef the best I’ve had for a very long time. Thickly cut, which is a good sign as pubs are inclined to slice the beef thin as they know it’s going to be chewy. This is anything but, very soft and packed with flavour. Generous amount of it too.
The spuds are also good, they are not faked by being deep fried, which always annoys me, but properly roasted. This means they aren’t as crisp as they might be, but they’re really nice inside. Soft and mashable into the gravy, as well as the unadvertised but very welcome sweet potato puree. Broccoli is bright green and al dente, while the beans are a trifle squeaky but better than being overdone. Very good
The gravy is my one criticism, there’s nothing at all wrong with it but I prefer it to come jugged on the side and not floating my dinner. It’s messy, as my shirt now testifies. I prefer to make my own gravy decisions. Lovely Yorkshire Pud, not a monster but crispy and fluffy.
P’s decision to go for the fish bears out. She says it’s great, the mash creamy, the fish skin crispy and the sauce delicious. Once again, this is a benefit of eating Sunday lunch in a restaurant and not a pub, you get proper cheffing.
And good desserts, too. Lemon Posset with a cinnamon and sugar tortilla is very unctuous, and Glazed Banana and Walnut bread with a toffee sauce and creme fraiche, is just what Sunday ordered. We’re happily stuffed and leave just in time before our parking runs out.
Did I mention the price? A very reasonable two courses for just £29.95, and 3 courses £34.95 Or just have roast chicken or beef for £24.*
Anyone who fancies a nice trip to the country for a decent Sunday roast dinner should consider Number 8 as a Number 1 option.
Hankki means ‘one meal’ in Korean, but when Nick and K went in they ate enough for an army.
Just on the fringes of Chinatown, a few doors down from my once beloved Wong Kei ( it eventually got too self-aware and ironic), Hankki is the kind of place Instagrammers love. It’s not completely traditional Korean, the full on cooking can be a bit challenging for some, and it has made sure it’s brightly lit with a very youthful vibe out front. The staff took one look at K and me and directed us out to the back, we were far too old and vibe killing.
Actually though this was a good thing as we got to sit at a nice large table, and we were going to need all that space as the dishes soon started piling up to satisfy our venerable greed. The centre of the table had a BBQ skillet which our waiter, sensing our intentions, fired up straightaway to get good and hot.
There are various set menus available, from £31 to £46 per person and they’re all generous in choice and taste, but we dive straight in to a la carte with some prawns in batter which are properly crispy but not overly exciting, whereas the fried squid is lively with, I assume, gochujang, Korea’s marvellous fermented chili paste.
This is perfect for knocking back in quantity with cold beer, so that’s what we do. I really like the fact it is all in odd size pieces, the tiniest and best bits being almost all batter, just like it used to be in UK fish and chip shops.
Talking of batter, the seafood pancakes (Haemul Jeon) feature a lot of batter around a good selection of seafood and the all important spring onions, nice and crispy on the outside, a little bit oily inside, but very delicious. We then have to drop our follow-up slices to deal with Kimchi Tofu soup.
It’s more kimchi than soup and that’s fine by us as we both love kimchi and its full on funk. This hot and sour soup is often made with pork, but this is cubes of tofu along with garlic, ginger, spring onion and daikon. Spooned onto rice it’s frighteningly addictive and we shovel it down like it was going to run away.
But hold on, there is now Chicken Noodle Cheese. A tangle of bouncy noodles with lots of chicken thigh and topped with cheese. Plenty of Gochugaru and Gochujang are pumping out heat with a hint of sweetness to balance it. The cheese topping binds it and there is a fried egg included, although it’s hard and I think it should be soft so it can be broken and stirred in. Absolutely delicious.
We really could call it a day and roll out happy, but there is the BBQ to be dealt with. Plates of raw Hankki beef, Bulgogi Wagyu Sirloin, spicy chicken and sweet soy octopus to griddle and eat along with more kimchi, cucumber, daikon and other assorted pickled vegetables and sauces.
We do our best. The Wagyu is of course divine, the basic beef great, the chicken tender and soon charred, and the octopus, depending on how long we leave it on the grill, nice and tender or overdone.
And we’re done, lolling back in our seats and groaning slightly with no room for the IG special, Yuzu cheesecake in the shape of a miniature dog. We see it being served as we leave soon after and it is so realistic it’s a bit unnerving.
We absolutely loved our Hankki feast and with so much on the menu it’s a place to go back to again and again. Bold flavours, plenty on the plate and a great atmosphere. ‘One meal’ indeed, but what a meal.
Just because it’s winter, doesn’t mean you can’t enjoy the summery warmth of a Greek Pig Panigyri Feast
They’ve got the electric heaters going full blast at Pyro tonight, Mad Ed Milliband would be livid if he knew about it in his luxury hotel in Brazil.
They do need them though, because even on this unseasonably warm November evening, I blame Climate Change of course, there’s a bit of a chill breeze blowing around our legs.
Pyro’s veranda is not a bricks and mortar structure, but a kind of large ‘beach hut’ with walls made of clear plastic that roll down for the winter. This would be effective, were it not for the fact that the one next to our table stops a good thirty cm short of the ground and the breeze is making my trouser legs flap like sails.
I don’t care, we’ve soon got cosy rugs wrapped around our legs and we’re enjoying ourselves too much to be put off by a draft. The whole place is welcoming, warmly lit, charmingly decorated and with a great Greek feel to it. If the sun was shining you really could be in an island taverna, and not simply south of London Bridge.,
Chef Yiannis Mexis is the man behind Pyro, and he cooks on live fire, which is always a good way to cook. I can see the practical benefits of induction hobs in modern kitchens, but they add nothing to the flavour. At Pyro every Wednesday from now and going forward, it’s the Pig Panigyri Feast, a Greek village festival. Inspired by Gournopoula, the Messinian tradition of roasting suckling pig over an open fire.It’’s a set menu designed to be shared with friends, although couples can also enjoy it just as much. We actually sat with two strangers and it couldn’t have been nicer, as we bonded over crackling, pork fat and Greek wine and the terrace filled up with other pork afficianados.
There are two cocktails for the set price. Pre feast was a Midas, a great combo of cinnamon infused tequila and aperol which set us up nicely for the arrival of sourdough potato pittas cooked on the griddle and with a good helping of syglino, a smoked pork fat.
These pittas are fat and round and delicious and prove perfect for loading up with the creamy sheep’s milk labneh with pork and a smattering of chick peas. Superb, as is the smoked aubergine puree with roasted garlic, this time scooped up with perfect crispy tranches of crackling. A dusting of pomegranate seeds add colour, but do get caught in my teeth.
If you only know souvlaki from the excellent album by Slowdive, you can’t have been to Greece where you find it all over the place. Meat grilled on a skewer over charcoal, it’s often served in a pitta with toppings. Here some Iberico pork’s goodness is further enhanced by sweet smoked prunes, almonds and an inspired topping of sour apple and radicchio. Another winner dish.
And from out of the fire comes more, this time a ‘Mykonian’ style sausage, curled like a Cumberland, it’s porky perfect and you can taste the fresh herbs embedded inside. An accompanying stew of butter beans, or ‘gigantes’ offers up super soft beans infused with flavour and cheerfully doing the backstroke in a rich tomato sauce topped with barely cooked kale and lots of lovely sage.
And the main event arrives, suckling pig (s) have been spit roasted over myrtle, an evergreen shrub found all over Greece. Suckling pig is not something for anyone who’s in denial about where meat comes from, I find it a bit hard to look at myself so I didn’t watch for long and waited for it to arrive portioned at our table.
Succulent, quite fatty, very tasty and set off by burnt clementine chutney and partnered with potato cooked in pork fat served with skordalia, which is a garlicky puree with potatoes and nuts, plus a fat-cutting salad of bitter leaves it did a great job of leaving us sated.
We managed to still eat Greek walnut cake, or karydopita, with creme fraiche before washing it down with Aegina, a crazily creamy vodka cocktail bursting with Greek yoghurt foam.
It really was a proper feast and a celebration of pig, and I really recommend you get your trotters in the trough asap.
Opulent and impressive, with a side order of slightly camp, this restaurant celebrates the past and feels guaranteed to have a glorious future
An IKEA TV campaign, not so long ago, urged everyone to ‘chuck out their chintz’. It seems that much of it ended up in Lilibet’s. I’ve not seen so much of the stuff since my maiden aunt died at 97, the same day as Elizabeth II, and her house hadn’t changed since the 1940s.
This new restaurant is on the site of the building where Elizabeth (Lillibet) II began her life, although the actual house was demolished years ago.
Internally Russell Sage Studios have created what can be either called a loving homage of interior design trends back then, or an affectionate parody of the same. There are handwoven Gainsborough silks on the walls, and even the sort of fake fireplace once found in stately council homes. Usually accompanied by a car up on bricks outside.
I like it, everything about the place has a wry smile on its face and it’s extremely welcoming, comfortable and, yes, it is actually elegant. There’s nothing else like it in an area that has become very blingy, majorly catering to Russian and Middle Eastern tastes.
It’s not perhaps what you’d expect from Ross Shonhan, once Executive chef at Zuma London, and who created the iconic Bone Daddies ramen bars that for years were the talk of blogland, with people scrambling to get as much oily broth inside themselves as possible..
Here it’s fish, fish and more fish across a very large space divided into zones. A bar, a marble topped seafood bar, (oysters and caviar feature, of course) a fish grill, and traditional seating to eat whatever you want. These seats are extra plush, and whilst the tables have no tablecloths, they are dark wood and so still feel upper class.
It’s a menu that could have you indecisively flicking back and forth for a month, but we know what we want.
Anchovy éclairs and crab tarts are more nibbles than full on starters, but they are both rather wonderful. I love anchovies, particularly the tinned brown fillets, but they do repel some people. The important thing is to get the best you can find – cheap anchovies don’t have the rich texture and deep umami that’s so present here.
I saw a recipe for these in the The Official Downton Abbey Christmas Cookbook (don’t judge me). So as a savoury they have been around a long time in posh circles. They’re usually made with puff pastry, here though it’s proper choux with the hollow space inside piped with anchovy parfait and on top sharp/sweet sauce. Gone all too quickly, but the memory lingers.
The crab tarts are equally impressive, small works of culinary art, super-fresh sweet crab enlivened by citrus and cosseted in pastry shells that are as delicate as the porcelain Liz 2 probably had her afternoon tea served in.
Did I mention it’s a big menu? Well we dither over the Ricotta agnolotti, lobster spaghetti, whole turbot pil pil as choices, but the “fish triptych,” fish served in three different ways – a crudo, a grilled main and a soup – sounds too unique not to try.
From the fish of the day we have the Sea Bream. This arrives first as crudo – raw – dressed with olive oil, salt, lemon and perhaps vinegar, and liberally scattered with herbs. This really showcases the fish which is firmly ‘cooked’ by the acids to a divine buttery texture. My only caveat being that the fresh chili was rather too fierce at times.
Next from the same fish comes its fillets, cooked in the searing heat of the bespoke wood oven. A perfect piece of fish, the skin crispy and golden, the flesh gorgeously creamy. It is so naturally excellent that the mojo verde sauce is in some ways not needed, but in other ways I need lots more. And a spoon, too. I could also do with some chips, but then I am common.
Lastly, the remains of the fish are cooked fast in a pressure cooker to create one of the best fish soups either of us have ever tasted, and yes we have been to the South of France.
It’s ladled out tableside, which is posh, and we boat it back with little oohs and aahs. There is some left in the tureen, so rather than summon a footman I top up our bowls myself. Sometimes one simply cannot wait to be served.
I now have to mention the Lobster Mash, after all everybody else has. Firstly it gave me an annoying earworm; I can’t stop hearing ‘Monster Mash’ in my head, and secondly it really is very good. Buttery, creamy, mash anointed with a lobster bisque? How can it fail?
It’s served after the soup, I’d have liked it served with the #2 fish, although that may not have been the best way to showcase either dish. Anyway, it is decadent, depraved and delicious. It’s a must have, a right royal treat.
They do a rather odd dessert here, a Prego sandwich. It’s a garlic steak sandwich, the word ‘prego’ in Portuguese means ‘nail,’ perhaps the nail in your coffin? It is actually a well-loved Portuguese snack that is often eaten after a seafood meal. I don’t really fancy it, but a twist on crepes suzette does sound good.
It arrives rolled up, topped with a sauce of caramelised sugar, orange juice and butter, plus thin candied orange peels, and yes, it is torched (or flambeed as they say in more refined circles) at the table. It’s a blast from the past and a very welcome one.
Lillibet’s really is something special in London; its interiors, its staff, its food all remind me of why I go out to eat in the first place, not to greedily catch a trend but to relax and enjoy time with friends and family in a place that believes in the basics.
Lillibet’s I am sure will become as much a part of London’s history as Liz 2 was, and hopefully live just as long.
Sicily DOC wines are exciting, fresh and a world waiting to be explored. I visit the island to discover a new age of quality that’s all in the family.
In the “baglio” or traditional central courtyard of Tonnio Baglio Ceuso, the father of the winery is frying aubergine slices and fennel sausages over glowing charcoal. The aroma is fantastic but, not speaking any Italian I can only give him a thumbs up and get one back with an accompanying grin.
Now semi-retired, he enjoys watching his descendants do most of the wine work while he offers sage advice that I’m sure is warmly welcomed, although perhaps not always, but hey, that’s families the world over.
I’m discovering a new generation of Sicilian wine makers, the sons, daughters and even great grandchildren, of the originals, who are now front and centre in Sicily, and that’s a good thing for Sicilian wine. The island’s wine scene is no longer dominated by the production of cheap, generic, wines, as it has been for so long.
The big name red grapes such as Nero d’Avolo, Nerello Mascalese and Frappato ‘fruity’ are still king of course. Whilst for whites, Cataratto (now named Lucido, because apparently we non-Italians can’t pronounce Cataratto) can still be found across the island, and crisp, savoury Grillo (used to make Masala) is now a fine white wine all on its own. Winemakers are using these grapes to make exciting new style wines, as well as growing ‘international’ grapes such as Syrah, Merlot and Chardonnay for blending and single grape production
There is power in a union
Around 450 forward thinking Sicilian wine makers came together in 2011 to promote tradition, innovation, and quality over quantity in Sicilian wine, as well as to support each other in what can be challenging times, by creating Consorzio di Tutela Vini Sicilia DOC which now numbers 7,000 winemakers and more than 530 bottlers.
One problem they all face is climate change. A young winemaker showed me a photo taken last year of the lake that has always irrigated his vines, ‘this year,’ he said drawing with his finger, ‘this….’. He indicated an area of water so reduced it was hard to believe it was the same lake. The patches of blackened undergrowth I saw all over the island also witness the lack of rain this year and the outbreaks of devastating fires.
Positivity is the main vibe from all the winemakers I met though, even when grumbling slightly about how big UK importers are still adamant they only want cheap plonk. They are reluctant to buy the more expensive quality wines these winemakers have dedicated themselves to, but that’s changing as UK wine lovers wake up to the new Sicilian scene and its amazing options.
The island can have four different climates over a vineyard surface that’s three times that of New Zealand’s, which allows for a lot of wine variety, but all over the DOC portfolio, quality and organic farming is key.
Sicily is now the top producer of organic grapevines in Italy. By leveraging the natural climatic conditions of the island, fewer treatments are needed. One winemaker told me how he is trialling a natural insecticide derived from local cacti as a cheap and effective crop protection solution.
Don’t walk away René
At Fuedo Diso, a fifth generation winery, the Di Lorenzo family were the first registered company to produce Chardonnay in Sicily. They’ve owned the winery, whose Baglio dates back to to the 17th Century, since around 1867, and whilst the buildings are gorgeously ancient, the equipment they use is state of the art.
Their Grillo, Chara, Nero d’Avola and Adhara wines are fresh and revitalising. Their particularly deliciously crisp Grillo is a star wine, while their sparkling wine René, named after the patriarch, comes from the oldest Chardonnay vineyard in the Feudo. As we taste through their range of wines, René is front and centre with his glass, and he’s not spitting any out. Mind you, neither am I.
Vinifying up a storm
The fresh energy at the Tola winery is also palpable. As I tasted the wines in their ultra modern building south east of Palermo, the skies darkened and the giant windows framed dramatic lightning storms over the gulf of Castellamare to the north.
The winery crackles with life – all white surfaces and sharp angles it’s run by Francesco Tola almost 400m above sea level. This makes the temperature moderate – it can actually be very cold at night – with sea breezes bringing salinity to his classic Sicilian grapes of Nero d’Avola, Syrah, Grillo, Catarratto, Insolia and Zibibbo, as well his international vines of Chardonnay, Sauvignon Blanc and Pinot Noir.
He uses steel tanks a lot, to keep the freshness of the grapes alive to produce light, zesty Nero d’Avola and, as a very modern winemaker, he is happy to use the latest machinery for efficiency, while keeping his CO2 emissions low.
Out back a machine is processing just picked grapes, blowing streams of stems into a pile to be composted. I can’t help but notice the workers here are all wearing Kippahs. ‘ Ah yes,’ says Mimmo, ‘this batch is for kosher wine and so can be only touched by Sabbath-observant Jews from the harvest to the bottling’. An interesting example of finding markets for his second division grapes.
His flagship red wine Black Label – Nero d’Avola Doc Sicilia – though is traditionally made from the best hand harvested grapes and is an intensely fruity example, while his sparkling wine, made from Catarratto and Grillo grapes, gets its fizz from the Charmat Method, where the second fermentation that gives the lovely bubbles is created by using large pressurised tanks, and not bottle ‘dosage’, as used for Champagne. This makes for wonderfully bright bright fruit flavours
Concrete Proof of change
Concrete often gets a bad rep. In the old Soviet Union it was used for shoddy buildings that fell down a lot, usually due to the ‘concrete’ being made of flour, water and potato peelings.
However for a long time proper concrete was the storage vessel of choice for winemakers – cheap, easy to clean, stable and hardwearing, it’s also slightly porous and its thickness makes the wine inside less susceptible to temperature changes or ‘shock’.
Stainless steel seduced many winemakers in the 1980s and lots of old concrete tanks were literally smashed up. Back at Tonnino Baglio Ceuso, with the aubergines eaten, I went with the chef’s daughter, Francesca, to see the usual steel vats, but also their row of concrete tanks that were still in place when they took over in 2023.
Their flagship wine Ceuso, created by enologist Giacomo Tachis in the 90s, is a modern blend of Nero d’Avola, Cabernet Sauvignon and Merlot. After fermentation, the wine is sent to mature in these old cement tanks before moving on to Seguin Moreau barrels. The result is an exceptional wine with velvet tannins and which can be aged for years in your own ‘cellar’.
They also produce a delicious dessert wine, ZIBÒ Made from their best Zibibbo grapes, it’s a reimagined Sicilian classic being fresh and balanced and not as cloying as older styles.
The variety of wines at each winery was remarkable. Innovation was everywhere and this was confirmed at a final tasting in town with twenty six producers and their wines present. It was head-spinning and not just because of the wine being drunk.
Twenty six passionate (yes, for once that word is appropriate) winemakers is a big crowd and whilst I tried to sample every wine, it was impossible. So many superb wines in one place was a remarkable one off event, and all the winemakers were lively and refreshingly young and keen. I naively asked some of them if they had ever wanted a different job from the family business and not one said ‘yes’ and no wonder.
The work is undoubtedly hard; it can be heart-breaking when a year fails to meet expectations, or an experiment with planting fails, but the joy of creating something superb cannot be beaten. Sicilia DOC wines are moving forward at pace, the bad old days are over, and their wines should be on everyone’s oenological shopping list
The Culinary Traveller 