Silverbrow on Food

Deliver us from Deliverance

Deliverance is a London based takeaway company.  They have their own kitchens out of which they make a scarily wide variety of food. Blithely ignoring the centuries of refinement that has culminated in some of the world's leading cuisines, they churn out Chinese, Thai, Indian, Italian and Sushi. 

In order to really cover all the bases they also offer World Classics which inter alia includes England (WTF?), Mexico, the Caribbean and France.

I find it difficult to express how many shades of awful my experiences of Deliverance have been.  Helpfully though, their website assists me, particularly their rather proud strap-line:

Deliverance is a team of people who work like mad to make sure that the most delicious possible food is delivered to your door.

Let's give that a good fisking.  Is Deliverance really a team of people?  I wonder.  A team implies a group working together, it implies humanity, intellect and initiative. 

They work like mad do they?  Having eaten their food I'd suggest that they cook like madmen.  Perhaps cooking bitter, nasty, foul tasting pad thai does require frenzied, uncontrolled activity.  But serving it to a paying customer? That speaks to me more of straight-jackets and temazepam than furious industry. 

Delicious food.  Ah, now there's the rub.  See reference to the aforementioned pad thai.  I have not reached my inconsiderable size by throwing away food I don't like.  I can power on.  Until faced with food from Deliverance.  I genuinely believe it is a travesty, but it ended up in the bin. 

And delivered to your door?  Really, ask my colleagues.  It took almost two hours for their food to arrive.  I stress their food.  Someonelse's food turned up first, confusion reigned, it was removed and eventually what they ordered turned up.

But why do I care?  Shurely I don't rely on takeaway?  Surely I'm dining out regularly at the finest of three stars, or the latest new opening, or that place down the dark alley that serves up fresh civet droppings?  Much of that is true.  But I also quite often spend late nights in the office and I need my food.

And for some bizarre reason, virtually nowhere delivers food in the centre of London.  Go into the 'burbs and you'll come across some great takeaways.  But in the centre of town, located within spitting distance of J Sheekey's, Hix Soho, Polpo and other delectables, you can't get food delivered.

I could resort to going out of the office and getting another pizza from Rossopomodoro.  I could wander up Old Compton Street to Maoz for a falafel.  But I don't want to wander.  I want to get home sharpish by doing my work, having a bite to eat and scooting.

Which brings us back to the ghastly Deliverance.  They get away with it by having no competition.  At one time Room Service was providing takeaway from a selection of decent restaurants.  I notice that one of their restaurants at the moment is Planet Hollywood. 'nuff said. So Deliverance has got no real competition and has become exceptionally lazy as a result.

It's enough to make me rethink Deliverance's strap line above.  Perhaps rather than a string of bollocks, it is in fact a call to arms.  Maybe there is a genuine business model in there somewhere, you know, people who give a shit about food delivering it to people who care what they eat. 

We could tear around making sure that what is served is, ooh, edible and then drop it round to the people who actually ordered it.  All those up for the revolution, follow me I'm off to the kitchen.

Pierre Koffmann at Selfridges

I've thought long and hard about whether or not to write up tonight's dinner because frankly the place was overun by some very good bloggers and a very good reviewer and I'm not sure what more I can add to what they will inevitably write. UPDATE: See the comment below, turns out Jay was there for fun as well.

However, I've decided to because I want to make a point that I assume, although can't be certain, the others will make.  The food was excellent, but most importantly the evening was great fun. 

Maybe it was because I was taking my Mum out for dinner, perhaps it was the venue, a pimped-up marquee on a balcony at Selfridges.  Maybe it was constant shuddering of the floor - not sure if it was the wind, or the aircon - that made us question the safety of the venture.  Maybe it was the service that didn't quite live up to the food.  Or maybe it was the sheer delight of those eating there to be tucking in to Koffmann's scoff once again.  Whatever it was, everyone seemed to be enjoying themselves.

After having a chat with Pierre's lovely partner Claire, I figured out it was the best part of 15 years ago that I ate at Tante Claire.  I don't remember anything about the meal other than the wedgwood blue walls - a feature that has been replicated at Selfridges - not that Claire had noticed until I pointed it out.

She said that one of her favourite things was to stand in the bar and listen to the hum of the restaurant.  She was enjoying herself.  If the deft touches on the plate were anything to go by, so was the kitchen.  My starter of leek terrine was summer on a plate - sweet, light and carefree.  My cod was good but not exceptional.  My pistachio souffle and ice-cream was outstanding.  Shame about the false alarm of a hair lurking - turned out it was a bit of a pastry brush. I'd have thought modern technology could overcome such issues.

Sometimes we forget the dining is about pleasure and therefore fun.  Koffmann's got it right at Selfridges.  There's little doubt he's looking to return to a full time kitchen after the hiccups at Brasserie St Jacques and guest spots elsewhere.  If he can bottle the pleasure factor and food of this quality, he's on to a winner. 

It reminds me that that was what Ramsay's shtick was in the early days: serve great food and keep the punters happy.  It's not a quadratic equation, but a sum that is nonetheless easy to get wrong.

Google Maps

Pierre Koffmann at Selfridges, 400  Oxford Street, London, W1A 1AB UK
Tel: +44 (0) 20 7318 7778

Not letting sleeping dogs lie

To rehash an old argument, if a blogger had got a top chef to cook for them for the sole purpose of writing a review on a restaurant that isn't yet in existence, it would have caused a right hoo-ha. There is no way any of us could replicate this meal as it is a one off specifically requested by Giles so he could write a review.  It also reignites the hoary issue of the anonymity of reviewers. 

Nonetheless, it did suitably whet my appetite for my imminent dinner at La Tainte Claire so I guess everyone wins: Giles for getting the master's attention and what sounds like a fantastic meal, the restaurant for the PR and the diner for being on tenterhooks. 

It reminds me that yes reviewers on national papers are in a priveleged position and no they may not experience the same meal as us.  But it doesn't make their copy worthless or any less interesting.

Ginger & White

Hampstead.  As place names go, it's pretty evocative: money, culture, the Heath, swimming ponds, miscreant ministers, European fishermen.

Yet this money and culture does not buy good food.  Jin Kichi does fairly good sushi and The Horseshoe is a solid gastropub.  But the majority of the restaurants in 'the village' are chains, ditto for the cafes. 

I can't help but feel ever so slightly embarrassed eating in Hampstead.  It's like farting at a dinner party.  Whilst the act itself might make you feel a bit better, you feel dirty and sullied and frankly you've darkened an otherwise enjoyable occasion.  Restaurants are Hampstead's festering, suppurating wart that lie hidden beneath the Hermes scarf.

It was with a high degree of certainty therefore that I was able to argue with Gemma at BouTea (very good tea by the way, in Covent Garden, not Hampstead) that no, there wasn't a really good new coffee shop in Perrin's Walk that sold handmade cakes and Square Mile Coffee.  I pointed out that she was confusing a rather non-descript greasy spoon on Perrin's Walk and Gail's, the very commercial purveyor-of-excellent-chelsea-buns on Hampstead High Street. 

Turns out Gemma was spot-on.  It's not often I'm so catastraphocially wrong and it's rather depressing when I am.  But she was right.

Ginger & White is, it has to be said, an almost perfect, relaxing, if rather self-consciously trendy cafe on Perrin's Walk.  And they serve Square Mile coffee and Montezuma chocolate. 

Writing this I'm suddenly struck by a mixture of guilt and reticence.  I realise I've only had toast and coffee there - lots of both, but still that's it - and a bit of yoghurt and fruit.  Can I give the place a fair outing?  Maybe the cakes taste like poo.  The home-smoked baked beans might just be Heinz a la fag. 

But the coffee was very good and the toast was pretty fine as toast goes.  And there's the peanut butter.  It's homemade.  They add some honey.  And kids turn away now, it's FUCKING AMAZING.  Seriously good.  There is no bread on this earth that can't be improved with lashings of the stuff.  Actually, sod the toast and ignore anyone watching you, just use your pinkie.

I imagine making peanut butter is not tricky, but how many people go to the effort?  It says a lot that the Ginger & White bods do, almost enough to allow me to stop here and ignore the fact I haven't worked my way through the menu.

At last, there is somewhere in Hampstead that is not an embarrassment. Sir Arthur would have approved.

Google maps

Ginger & White, 4a Perrins Court, London, NW3 1QS, UK
Tel: +44 (0)20 7431 9098

The Bull & Last

Thomas Friedman's Golden Arches Theory of Conflict Prevention has been discredited, but I feel that the academic field of peace studies has a lot to learn from my contribution. 

I've never claimed to be a social scientist (although I am by training, but let's ignore that) so I want to revise my thesis and argue that in fact toasted cheese sandwiches are the answer to peace.  A great cheese sandwich is the apotheosis of a great civilisation. Think about what goes into it: the right bread; cheese that melts to the correct extent; cooking time - do you want bubbling or burnt cheese? and finally, condiments if any.

And I think that The Bull & Last's cheddar and spring onion toastie might just be what the world is after.  You might feel a cheese sandwich is a bit prosaic for the high-brow Silverbrow, but good places get the basics very right.

What I got was two not-quite doorsteps of toasted granary, between which was oozing cheese and onion.  Admittedly it turned up on a rather fussy wooden board that wasn't big enough to stop oniony cheese streaming onto the table, but the sandwich itself was delicious.  Maybe I'm not sufficiently inventive, but I'd never thought about combining spring onion in a toasted sandwich.  It's far from the craziest combo, nonetheless, not one I'd considered for a toasty.  And it works so well.  So well.  And the sweet pepperiness of the sandwich was nicely offset by the not-too-sweet onion pickle.

Now, although I say getting the simple things right is the sign of a great restaurant, they do sometimes get things wrong: my green beans with garlic were overcooked, tasteless and a oily.  But I'll ignore that because at the same time as delivering my very spicy tomato juice, the very sweet waitress also put on my table a jug of water WITH ICE and bread and butter.  Very cold water, bread and butter are all things that make me a happy diner.    

Oh and good ice-cream only makes things better.  I had wanted one of the cartons of chocolate ice-cream but was told I wasn't allowed them as they are for take-away only.  I had to stay on-menu.  I found this slightly odd as I was there mid-week and there was barely anyone else around, they weren't about to run out of take-away pots.  Nonetheless, I was convinced to try the Ferrero Rocher ice-cream when I was assured by the bar man that it wasn't ice-cream made from Ferrrero Rocher, but ice-cream flavours that constituted the chocolate ball (chocolate, gianduia, hazelnut nibs) and it was very good.  Someone in their kitchen is a dab hand with frozen custard.

What was supposed to be a quick working turned into a thoroughly enjoyable meal that promises a lot for bigger, better experiences.  At long last North London has a gastropub it can be proud of.

UPDATE: I had dinner here last week and it was just as good an experience as my cheese sandwich lunch.  I implore you to try the anchovy beignets if they're on the menu.  Large anchovies, deep fried in a perfectly crunchy, unsoggy batter, served with the best tartare sauce I can remember eating - a reminder that sauces should be more than an afterthought to pep-up dull ingredients.

Google Maps

The Bull & Last, 168 Highgate Road, London, NW5 1QS, UK
Tel: +44 (0)20 7267 3641

What others think

Giles Coren - I’ve been back and back and back. Ten, maybe 12 visits.
Dos Hermanos - The Bull and Last is an absolutely terrific gaff.
Gourmet Chick - The. Best. Chips. In. London.

Casa Brindisa

While lunch was all shades of bad, dinner at Casa Brindisa was a revelation.  The meal was organised as part of the Dine with... series that the Dos Hermanos boys have been organising.  I'm going to leave it to Simon to explain in large part about the meal and how good it was, go read his write-up and see Jon's photos.

The one thing I'd add to Simon's write-up is that being the only non-pork-eater I had a bit of a different experience to everyone else.  Or at least, I had different dishes.  One was seabass in a paprika sauce, that was very good.  But the truly exceptional dish was a fried egg, some grilled asparagus, three slices of hard, manchego like cheese, and drizzled with truffle oil.

I know the last ingredient is sine qua non of verboten ingredients for us gastrosexuals, but this was a worthy addition to an extraordinary dish.  I'm disappointed to say that I felt compelled to offer it up to others on the table to try as it was so good.  I was even more disappointed at just how much they enjoyed it.

Google Maps

Casa Brindisa, 7-9 Exhibition Road, London, SW7 2HQ, UK
Tel: +44 (0)20 7590 0008

What others think

AA Gill, The Sunday Times - None of it was terribly expensive, but then it’s not very nice. But that’s not what’s wrong with it. Tapas is meant to be bar food...
Londonist - It's not novel food but everything was delicious and well cooked and no one batted an eyelid when we ordered tap water to keep costs down.

Why open kitchens in crap restaurants are a terrible idea

I had lunch at Cantina Vinopolis today and I saw:

1. a cook rubbing a nasty looking zit
2. another cook drop a piece of fish on the floor, wash it and then cook it
3. several cooks 'surreptiously' stuffing their faces with food that was lying around

I know that all of these and far worse go on in normal kitchens - #3 hardly being the crime of the century.  But the whole point of an open kitchen is that the chefs are on show to add some theatre.  What I saw today is not the kind of theatre most sane diners want to see.

To add to the agony I was enduring, the food was appalling.  My tortelloni were thick, leathery, dry dumplings, in a vomit-hued 'tomato-pesto' sauce (I was reminded of my stag night and my attempts at re-floweing a bush following a very good dinner of penne arrabiata).  Pesto, is pesto is pesto.  It hasn't got tomatoes in it.  Also, a note to the kitchen: balsamic reductions were 'out' before they ever came 'in'.

Normally, I end my posts about restaurants with contact details and a little summary of what others have written.  In my role as a public service blogger, I'll spare you.