The Hand Of History: Aubergine – Chelsea, Thursday 29th July, 2010

Word of mouth is a dangerous thing. I've debated the pitfalls of hearing about how great somewhere is before you try it, but we soldier on in the knowledge that someone is always going to have tried whichever neighbourhood gem we have unearthed first. Particularly if you live in London. That comes with the territory of course, and writing about food isn't something which could be called exclusive these days, particularly with the explosion of blogs similar to (but not as good as) this.
 
Sometimes you have to bite the bullet and visit somewhere that has been recommended to you, written about to death and generally lived in the culinary fabric of the city for donkey's years. Aubergine of Chelsea is one such place. Or it was. Perhaps the one new thing I can give you with this review is that it no longer exists. Some weeks ago, the other half and I were walking past it but I had to check twice that it was indeed Aubergine. The place had been gutted and was in the process of being re-modelled. An equation sprung to mind: no more Michelin stars = desperate restaurateurs.
 
Aubergine was unfortunately one of a few London restaurants to lose a star at the beginning of this year. No-starred restaurants in Chelsea are not quite what the doctor ordered, so clearly a shake-up and a strip-down were quickly requested. The end product is the recently re-opened and re-named 11 Park Walk; a rather uninspiring name at best. This sort of thing can work if you're running an upmarket gastropub or bistro in the centre of town, but not in a leafy side street off the Kings Road. Looking at pictures of the new place, it seems they've pawned off the old charm of Aubergine in favour of a more sleek and modern veneer of uplights, stone walls and yellow haze. It's clinical and very dull.
 
Mind you, I'm only basing that on photography. I haven't eaten there or seen the finished product from the inside. Still, I am sufficiently haughty and experienced enough to make half-judgements, so I shall. It just looks wrong. It's suddenly a restaurant that has been cut adrift in search of a new mooring in London's harbour of foodie ships. If you'll indulge me a final maritime metaphor, the one saving grace is that this new venture is merely a tug towing the good ship A-Z Restaurants. The parent company of 11 Park Walk also owns a host of restaurants throughout the capital. Mainly Italian affairs and quite good too, they are in a similar vein to the D&D group, but with just the one Michelin star to their name now, with Zafferano of Belgravia leading their bill.
 
When we ate at Aubergine (may it rest in peace), the four of us were fortunate enough to have half off our final bill. The American equivalent of Toptable, Opentable (which recently acquired the all-conquering Toptable from the UK), happened to mention in an e-mail to me that Aubergine were taking 50% off their dinner menu in the week, so we went for it. One final side note before the meal: Opentable is not a particularly impressive website. Lacking all the user-friendly savvy of Toptable, it was more by luck than design that I came across this one. Still, thanks duly go to them for the deal.
 
We had a wonderful time at Aubergine for three reasons: 1) we did get a very reasonable dinner thanks to the offer; 2) the food is – despite the loss of the Michelin Star – generally very good; and 3) service was attentive, unobtrusive and polite throughout the evening. The place itself, despite not quite needing the cuisine and furniture change it has since undergone, was a little tired. Lots of pale pink everywhere, combined with some rather school-days skylights made for a slightly bizarre surround; as if you were eating in a stunningly-furnished conservatory. So backtracking slightly, I can see why A-Z decided to change things in that sense.
 
Yet it is this clinging to the old days that really struck a chord with me about Aubergine. Sure, the décor was a bit passé, but that's almost what you want in a former grand-dame of Chelsea's restaurant family. It was reminiscent of the heady days of the past two decades, a subdued lushness that doesn't really sit right, but hey – we're in Chelsea so we'd better sit up straight and enjoy it kind of a feel. There is a lot of pronounced restaurant history within these walls. In 1993, this is where Gordon Ramsay really caught his break. The restaurant was re-opened with him in his first head chef role, under the patronage of Marco Pierre White, where he went on to win his first two Michelin Stars by 1997. The weight of history rests heavy: I recently had a chat with a restauranteur, chef and culinary veteran who was telling me he still remembered every detail of a meal he ate at Aubergine many years ago.

They were still hitting some silky highs when we ate there. The pre-course canapés were a slick combination of spiced carrot purée and tomato with cheese and onion on little crackers. Pre-starters like these can often be irrelevances to the meal, but these just about did the job. Tasty morsels that were beautifully presented (left). Before we got stuck in, the staff showed they were on the ball by offering to turn down the air conditioning as they could see that two of our number were a little chilly. In a near-empty restaurant, this should be a given, but these touches always help.
 
Starters bucked a recent trend in that they weren't quite as good as the rest of the meal. Too many times in recent months I've been wowed by the starter then left a little cold by the following courses. In an ideal world you want all three to be great, but rarely do we get this. Not to say Aubergine's starters were bad though. Some scallops with tomato (or sauce vierge) were fresh enough and whilst unspectacular they did go down well.
 
Mike and I went for some meatier options. The duck salad Mike ordered was summery in the extreme, littered with fresh vegetables and adorned with tomato. A showy starter for sure but nicely varied, with nearly raw smoked duck combining well with the soft and crispy vegetables. My criticism would be that it was a little muddled, and distinctive flavours were tricky to pick out at times. Duck this good deserves impeccable support.

I opted for something I felt would be right on the mark at Aubergine: marbled foie gras terrine with cherries and brioche (right). The stuff was predictably glorious; as I suspected, whatever has robbed the place of their Michelin star, it ain't the paté. Sharp and sour cherries were a great accompaniment to the rough brioche and smooth terrine. Lovely.
 
Main courses were a better-rounded affair across the board other than the lamb with olives. This is something I've tried a couple of times and perhaps it's just my aversion to olives in general, but I'm of the opinion that the two do not mix. In the event, the stuffed saddle of lamb was a bit of a mess. Haphazardly layered with a couple of display wafers stuck in the top to make it look as if the dish was wearing bunny ears, I wasn't a fan. A shame indeed, because the lamb was deliciously well-cooked.



If lamb, a classic favourite of mine, let us down, something which surprised in no small measure was a divine fillet of seabass, served with tomato concassé (essentially rough-diced and fried tomatoes) and parmesan shortbread (left). Allowing for such absurdly-named fare as parmesan shortbread, the dish was a real winner. Cooked to a fall-apart T, the fish had been combined with its accompaniments to expert standards. I was definitely surprised, but there is so much to be said for great combinations. (Even if they do describe anything as pretentiously as parmesan shortbread.)

Mike and I decided to share something we were certain would bring home the bacon for our main course: a cote de boeuf with bearnaise sauce and vegetables (right). Indeed, the piece of beef was top-notch. Cooked rare, drizzled with a dark jus and all the correct trimmings (though this sort of thing usually comes with chips, I was more than happy with our roasted vegetable sides), we were seriously satisfied. You can't write an awful lot more about something which you expected to be good and it was. Consider it a generous hat-tip for Aubergine to deliver us a classic.
 
Desserts in a decent French restaurant are always worth the few weeks off the end of your life, so we indulged in more or less the most stereotypical way we could: with a creme brulée, a soufflé and a tarte tatin. All three were lovely. The creme brulée was well-received by the other half, who is nothing short of a creme brulée connoisseur these days (left). One small criticism was that they'd over-sugared the top.

Mike's cherry soufflé was a real winner (right). Served with a scoop of ice cream, the fruit flavours were perfectly complimented by the sweet chill. Perhaps not quite up to Le Gavroche standards a few weeks prior, but we'd never expect that. However, yet another French standard expertly presented.

Finally, my apple tart was quite as it should have been: buttery, crisp and chock full of body-creaking goodness (left). I do love me a good tarte tatin and this was. Dollop of ice cream on the top and the job was most impressively done.

Desserts were a fairly accurate representation of the meal: French standards, delivered at a competitively high level. There were two things that struck me about the experience overall: first, that I might have been slightly miffed paying full price, which is never a good sign. Second, that it may well be the simple Gallic cuisine which characterised Aubergine's class for so long is no longer what deserves Michelin stars.

Writing about Aubergine seems not much more than glossy nostalgia at this point, particularly given how much I have written. I'll stand by it though. I was happy to have tried Aubergine whilst it still existed (though there is something of a distant relative in Buckinghamshire) because it is somewhere that stood for quite some time as a constant in London's culinary milieu. Whether 11 Park Walk turns out to be a master stroke or a failure, I'll always think Aubergine went too soon.



11 Park Walk (formerly Aubergine)

Archipelago – Fitzrovia, Wednesday 21st July, 2010

In the name of self-effacing self-promotion, I was recently on a couple of episodes of Market Kitchen, a show on the Good Food Channel. I talked about food from Cheshire with studio guests and it was a lot of fun. Unfortunately I have not yet seen the footage since I don't subscribe to the channel and a friend's Sky+ box broke down. Sufficed to say I was fantastic, delivering sharp and pithy comments with a grace belying my relative broadcasting inexperience. Well, I enjoyed it anyway.

The producer of the show asked me a few questions so they could set up a profile about me before I went on the show. One of the questions asked was about the strangest food I'd eaten. Without hesitation I answered "locusts and grasshoppers." Definitely bizarre foods that I wouldn't have expected to eat a few years ago. But I have now. And I ate them at Archipelago in the west end. I even talked to the show's host Penny Smith about this between takes. Another day in the life of a critic…

A friend hosted a dual-birthday meal at Archipelago back in July, so Mike, the other half and I all attended, desperate to see what the relative fuss about this place was, and if they could justify the hype they've managed to generate through serving things like insects and other whacky foreign fare.

I will start with the good things about the place. It's in a lovely area – just south of Warren Street station which is a gorgeous mix of expensive flats, proper pubs and charismatic media offices. It was also a lovely summery evening which is a great time to be out and eating with friends. It's a friendly place – sort of like an outrageously over-the-top nautical shop by the sea feel to it – which makes you feel very relaxed and carefree.

Good things out of the way, I have to say Archipelago let me (and, I get the feeling, not just me) down. It is supremely tacky. That's the problem with the nautical shop: whilst it's relaxing on the one hand, it's also horrendously cheap-looking. I can live with cheap-looking if it's cheap pricing: Archipelago has one but not the other. The food is massively overpriced. They will probably say this is a result of huge importing costs incurred through shipping crocodile, kangaroo and suchlike into their kitchen, which is fine… if it is worth it.

And here is my real beef with Archipelago. I could tolerate the décor, the prices and the frankly inattentive staff if the food on the table was up to the mark. Canapés were fun bits of splodge on dry bread which weren't unnecessary and actually promised much, but things quickly snapped into focus with the starters. Some duck salad was so blandly uninspiring that it didn't deserve to be on any menu, let alone an exotic one. Vine leaf-wrapped crocodile meat was interesting, I'll say that much (left). Not necessarily good or bad, it was a bit fatty and chewy, whilst never delivering the sort of flavoursome punch I would expect of such a meat. Very meaty shellfish is what I got from it.

On to main courses, the marquee dish was clearly the marsupial which they had added a £5 supplement to for some reason or another, none of which I could pick out from the dish itself (right). Half grilled and half slathered in sauce, the complete flavour of the meat itself was reduced to something close to chicken with a fruitier aftertaste. Overall, not really worth it.

The second main course was laughable in having any pretensions to being special, fresh or exotic. Branded as essentially a posh chicken curry with rice, it was essentially an average chicken curry with rice. I don't really understand what this mildly sauced, uninteresting pile of (allegedly) Indonesian food was doing on the menu, on my plate or in this restaurant.

Possibly the most over-priced thing on the menu was the Love-Bug Salad, which is where my grasshoppers and whatnot came from. I suppose you do expect to pay a bit more for such outlandish fare, but when you try it and it tastes of burn corn husks with chilli and garlic, you feel as if you've fallen for a scam and a half.

Not content with copping out for just about the whole of the meal so far, Archipelago decided to let us down with desserts too. The Colombian Fix sounded interesting. It was billed as 'serious therapy for the chocoholic'; also interesting. It was a chocolate fondant which contained nothing special or different, bar the bitter cocoa flavourings they had overdone the (chocolate) sauce with. It seems that Archipelago divide their time between ruining classics, bumbling their way through anything remotely unique and charging whatever they can get away with.

The other two dessert events were a chocolate-covered scorpion, which would have actually looked impressive enough but for their small size (left). Mike ranted for a good while about the size of scorpion he expected for £6.50. A Visit From The Doctor was something we ordered for the birthday boys, and it turned out to be a couple of shots of deathly strong, absurdly flavoured liqueurs. Lots of fun, and even the non-alcoholic that I am could see the point in this one.

Not content with taking us to the cleaners on the final bill (crocodile, kangaroo and scorpion would cost you £40 before service or drinks), Archipelago obviously felt one last squeeze was in order. At the bottom of the menu, they write 'Many items in the restaurant are for sale'. You're not kidding: I can practically feel the careers of everyone at Archipelago aching to be bought up and sold off.

Archipelago

Corrigan’s Mayfair – Mayfair, Sunday 18th July, 2010

Richard Corrigan is the Irish-born brains behind two of London's most coveted restaurants in recent times; Lindsay House and Bentley's Oyster Bar And Grill. I sampled the latter just over a year ago and was horrified at their set menu; more and more I feel as if it was an off day, though I've not yet braved a return there. Lindsay House was an 11-year long Michelin-starred gem in Romily Street in Soho (I hear), but Corrigan then moved to Mayfair in 2008, taking Lindsay House's guestbook and his name with him.

Moving to Mayfair, the west end or west London is a big step. Moving from Soho to Mayfair is akin to buying a new house five minutes from your existing place because the area has become a bit grubby and a family you don't like the look of has moved in three doors down. It's almost going against the current back-to-the-roots, food-from-the-market trend Britain is apparently supposed to be on. However, whilst you can take the restaurant into Mayfair, you can't take co. Meath out of the lad from Ireland.

What you need to know about Richard Corrigan is that he is respected in London. Whilst I've not seen it, he's given tremendous credit for re-introducing London to the oyster bar after his work at Bentley's. He's worked at a variety of places in London which began with a stint down in Fulham in the mid-nineties, and from then until Lindsay House closed down, he'd held that one Michelin star. The great thing about being a one-star chef – and believe me, I am saying this in the most sincere and respectful sense – is that everyone won't feel compelled to call you overrated and you'll still be able to attract the vast majority of the restaurant-going public. One-star is the way forward. (Okay, perhaps that last bit was tongue-in-cheek.)

Corrigan's Mayfair does not (yet) have one star. I think it probably will have in a few months, which brings me nicely to business: it's lovely. As I mentioned, Richard Corrigan is a no-nonsense seasonal British man. In Mayfair, that is a rare commodity. It's a stone's throw from Le Gavroche, down the road from Claridge's and within shouting distance of half a dozen other fine modern European eateries. Still, I defy you to find a better upmarket weekend roast than the one you can get on the Sunday set menu at Corrigan's.

We started things in a simplistic and stylish manner befitting the restaurant: a couple of oysters (left). These babies were every bit the genuine article: big, fresh, impressive. As I have touched on before, one oyster is enough for me and these two served as a great start to our meal.

On to more substantial matters, the country terrine we chose as one of our starters was just as it should be: feisty liver flavours reigned in by a slight and desirable roughness. Fig and date chutney on the side complimented it perfectly. More impressive and substantial were some crubeens (right). Served with crunchy pickled carrots, creamy horseradish and smooth ham, they were a huge success. Not dissimilar to the ones we tried at Launceston Place a few months earlier, these were smaller and slightly more understated. Nothing lost though: they were just lovely.

We were determined to get us a fair bit of Sunday lunchtime meat for our main courses, so we plumped for the rib of beef which, whilst incurring a £10 supplement, was quite the correct choice (left). Carved at the table (and as rare as we had asked for), served with a traditional (and perfect) Yorkshire pudding and a generous dollop of horseradish cream, this was seriously fine roast beef on a Sunday. Tender, juicy, intensely meaty and well supported.

The Elwy Valley lamb we went for was not as impressive, but presented impeccably (right). Dressed with greens and liberally accompanied with broad beans and peas, the meat was spot on (rare enough) and a slightly lighter alternative to the butch beef. Two slices of a rack and juicy as anything, this worked perfectly as a second dish. My only criticism of the mains was the slightly underwhelming nature of the side dishes: potatoes that are little dry do precisely nothing for me and the green beans weren't up to much. Lovely carrots though.

Desserts were as down to earth and richly fulfilling as the rest of the meal had been. If you serve something as simple as a chocolate brownie in a decent restaurant, it must be a fantastic brownie or have some sort of inventive twist. This had shades of the former and much of the latter: sour cherry ice cream proved to be an unlikely winner of an accompaniment.

More in-season and on the money was a delicious rhubarb parfait (left). Served with vanilla ice cream which was soft enough not to overwhelm the dish and some strawberries for appearances, it was just what I needed after such a meaty and filling first couple of courses. Rhubarb desserts in spring and summer are what make seasonal desserts worthwhile.

I can't really say much more about Corrigan's Mayfair: it is a surprisingly down to earth restaurant of the moment in a glorious area usually famed for upmarket French food. As I intimated earlier, I will be surprised if we don't see a Michelin star here next year. Three courses for less than £30 of this quality is nothing to be sniffed at and everything to be applauded. I'll be back here for sure.

Corrigan's Mayfair