Top 100 UK Restaurants 2011

It seems to be the season for handing out awards. Following the early publication of the 2012 Michelin Guide, the National Restaurant Awards for 2011 have taken place. As usual, I have listed the London-based ventures within the 100, along with their overall ranking.

There have been a few big moves but not at the top, where the Ledbury holds on to the prestigious honour of being number one. Coupled with a spot on the world's 50 best restaurants earlier this year, Brett Graham's Notting Hill stronghold seems to be riding a wave. As I found when I went there, it certainly is a special restaurant, but maybe not quite what I would expect from a two-time best in the UK winner.

The biggest achievement for me is the new entry at number two for Jason Atherton's Pollen Street Social. Not a bad month, considering it started with a Michelin Star. It seems as if this place is right at home in the west end already. Dinner by Heston Blumenthal also shot in at number three (one place above the Fat Duck interestingly) to go along with its new recent star also.

Four other restaurants did well to hold on to roughly the same positions they had been in for the previous couple of years: Hibiscus, The Square, St. John and Chez Bruce all show the value of consistency and quality in this year's list. It's good to see some of the best recognised as such.

Have a look and start devising lists of where you want to go in the coming year. As usual, there is loads of quality food to be eaten in London - 57 of the top 100 UK restaurants are here - and a hell of a lot of enjoyment therein.

1 The Ledbury

2 Pollen Street Social

3 Dinner by Heston Blumenthal

6 Hibiscus

7 The Square

10 Bar Boulud

11 Le Gavroche

13 St John

15 Chez Bruce

16 Roganic

18 Hawksmoor Seven Dials

20 Arbutus

21 Viajante

23 Koffmann's

25 Polpo

26 Brawn

27 Galvin at Windows

32 Scott's

35 Marcus Wareing at The Berkeley

37 Bistrot Bruno Loubet

38 Galvin La Chapelle

40 L'Anima

42 The Ivy

43 Restaurant Gordon Ramsay

44 The River Cafe

46 Bocca di Lupo

47 Hélène Darroze at The Connaught

50 Texture

51 Zucca

54 José

55 The Gilbert Scott

56 The Dock Kitchen

57 Murano

61 J Sheekey

62 Opera Tavern

64 Terroirs

65 Zuma

66 Nahm

68 Hakkasan Mayfair

70 Bentley's Oyster Bar & Grill

71 Les Deux Salons

73 La Trompette

75 Goodman Mayfair

76 The Quilon

78 Cambio de Tercio

80 Hereford Road

81 The Cinnamon Club

84 Nobu

88 Koya

89 Hix

90 The Greenhouse

91 Locanda Locatelli

92 L'Atelier de Joel Robuchon

94 Medlar

97 Theo Randall at the Intercontinental

98 The Modern Pantry

99 The Bingham

A Little Korean - Assa: Soho, Monday 14th March, 2010

I've been to both branches of Assa before, but this was a visit where I think I understood the appeal of simple Korean food more than my previous experiences. A very traditional, get-you-in, get-you-out London Asian restaurant, there is much to be said for spending £10 or £15 here on some uncomplicated dinner.

I was also more informed about what it was we actually ate. Last time I was part of a group which sort of ordered and left me to get on with it. This time, in a party of three, I was able to have more input into what was on the table.

When eating Korean food, there is an iconic dish one must try: kim-chi. It's important to try this because it is synonymous with Korean eating right down to the roots. Rough, fresh and assembled at the table, it's a stunning synthesis of several quaint and traditional culinary forms. The only problem is, it's horrible. Sour, ridiculously spicy and generally unpleasant. Which is a shame, since hot rice, vegetables, sauces and a raw egg combined at the table in front of your face should be amazing.

Of course, not everyone agrees with me. The other half and the friend who was at the table with us devoured some kim-chi soup - like the should-be-good rice but actually predictably vile - which had a huge lump of tofu floating in it. I tried some, choked and didn't try any more. However if you like thin, spicy, sour soup (with tofu) this will be right up your street (left).

Fortunately, the rest of what we ordered pressed my buttons. Pork belly was peppery and snappy but unnecessarily dusted with sesame seeds. The taste was good but the slices so thin you were quickly transported from flavoursome meat to unpleasant fat and back again fairly quickly. The same seafood pancake as before was enjoyed as thoroughly as before (right). It was crispy, thick and soft in the middle. It's much like an omelette but one you feel happy to fill with other foodstuffs.

We completed our table-full with some noodles. Glass noodles were ordered with vegetables and they were practically fought over. Glass noodles, unlike the standard kind, are based on sweet potato and as such they have a far more distinctive, chewy texture. They work remarkably well when combined with old-fashioned greasy sauce and veg to make a delicious and filling comfort food. Beef udon noodles were similar: the kind of thing you just didn't want to stop eating (left).

The right kind of dishes can make a lot of difference when it comes to Korean food. When you've got the food on the money, sharing it and wolfing down mouthfuls of assorted dishes becomes a treat and one that is easy to see the appeal of. It's not glamorous cuisine but it can be a lot of fun. Best eaten with friends or having a few dishes to share, Assa is certainly a good, cheap meal out.

Odette's & Wang-Fu-Don: Camden, Saturday 19th February, 2011

Primrose Hill is probably my favourite place in London. The view across the city is second to none, perfectly encapsulating London's special disparate charm. The hill itself is simply picturesque, with green rolling verges punctuated by lush trees, and it feels as if the sumptuous beauty of the park rubs off on the surrounding area. The side roads which you walk down to get to the hill from Camden are stunning: old industrial conversions along the side of the canal, resplendent detached houses and picturesque suburban-urban peacefulness.

North London (particularly surrounding Camden) is not known for good eating, but there is food to be found if you look hard enough. One place I'd hoped to try for some time was Odette's. A star dish in two consecutive London Restaurant Festival visits, their lamb had ensured the name stayed etched in my memory and it was always on my 'to visit' list.

One Saturday earlier in the year, we took the plunge and went for the set lunch menu and then followed it with a walk and some tea-time food which made for a typically indulgent and memorable day out. Lunch was the main event naturally, and even though we were on a set menu deal, we were still expecting to be impressed.

Bryn Williams is the main man at Odette's. He's something of a quintessentially modern British chef without the eye-rolling. He's done his time, training under Marco Pierre White and Michel Roux jr. He worked in France for a while. He's excelled on The Great British Menu. And he's a native Welsh speaker. There's not a lot to dislike about Bryn Williams.

When you go inside Odette's there's even less to dislike about him. Having taken over the place in 2008 as chef patron and owner, the theme of the restaurant is simple and current: comfortable, old-fashioned, Great British eating. It's not too pricey (the weekend lunch deal was three courses for £25) and the setting entirely welcoming and unpretentious.

Good bread and butter came in a basket and said basket was sent back to the kitchen minutes later with nothing left in it. Our first starter was something altogether unexpected from a very British institution: cured salmon, or as we might know it: sashimi (left). It was exquisitely fresh and tender, something we practically squabbled over sharing. Fish this good doesn't need much with it. The radish, avocado and ginger was a nod to the already pronounced Japanese leanings of the dish but the salmon was so good none of the rest really registered.

Along with this, we sampled one of those dishes that was so exceptionally conceived you wish you'd opened a restaurant just so you could've thought of it. Or at least claimed the creative rights. However I want to eulogise this won't do it justice: it was a bloody good serving of quail (right). Roast on the side of a toasted goats cheese sandwich with broccoli, I was in heaven through every bite. The entire premise was gloriously simple but incredibly satisfying. Naturally, we ended up fighting over this one too so we wanted to eat both starters exclusively by ourselves.

We were told that unfortunately the kitchen had run out of the braised pork shoulder as a main course. I was a little disheartened but since we were (I believe) the last table to be seated for lunch, I could understand. Instead, they were replacing the pork with rabbit. So that was braised rabbit with Alsace bacon, white bean and apple. Now, I did not really see rabbit combining with these, but rabbit in general is not something I usually turn down. I don't know how good the pork would've been with this dish, but the rabbit tasted like it was meant to be on that plate all along (left). Beans cooked to perfection, bacon crispy and rich and apple smoothing over the meat which was falling off the bone.

Our second main course was not one you'd usually see us ordering. The other half and I are a couple of fairly pronounced meat eaters but the look of a butternut squash risotto with parmesan and pine nuts was too much to resist. Fortunately we had chosen well. The rice was light, unimposing and fairly sang with the sweet, subtle notes of the root vegetables (right). The dish looked a picture and delivered on all counts.

Desserts were not to be sniffed at and we were right to indulge. We decided to pay £20 for our two courses and go for a la carte desserts. Two in particular looked too good to miss out on. Some apple tart was exactly as we'd hoped: crisp on the bottom and sweet on the top. It wasn't quite what I'd eaten at Ramsay or Launceston Place but nice nonetheless.

The stand-out from the dessert menu was the chocolate mousse (left). Served around passion fruit & banana sorbet which sat atop some small cubed biscuits, the mousse was quite wonderful: moderately aerated, slightly swirly, a little creamy and winningly rich. Four warm madelines on the side and the place had gone from great to tapping the spirit of St. John. A truly special dessert.

That was lunch. Lunch was terrific. We were ready for a leisurely walk from the base of Primrose Hill through the side streets down the canal to Camden Lock. The walk along the Regents Canal to Camden is a special walk. It's riddled with tiny elements of historical spice, from the still-operational freight mainline bridge over the canal to the narrow boats constantly moored in the lock.

Despite the slow and steady soul extraction of Camden, developers have yet to remove all its whimsical charm. The stables market proper may be gone, but the myriad of shops and small home-made sellers still operating on the banks of the lock retain their own special vibrancy. Camden is a town for all seasons, all comers and, relevant to this February Saturday, all cuisines.

We came across Wang-Fu-Don, an apparently rather above-average restaurant. But it's not really called that. You and I would know it as Yum Cha Silks & Spice. I certainly think the former is better than the latter so I will continue to refer to it as such. Dim sum was the order of the day and despite that fact that we didn't altogether need it, we wandered in and were sat at a wipe-clean, no-nonsense, utterly typical Chinese restaurant table.

This was not the best dim sum I've eaten. Nor was it even the best Asian food I ate that day (that cured salmon was still sashimi to my mind), but it was pretty nice. I will say immediately the plate of duck tongues the other half devoured were pretty vile: chewy, bone-lined and pointless. I must have missed their point immediately but she loved them.

On the plus side, egg tarts were crumbly, sweet and had just enough of a greasy hint to leave an impression. I love these things so much as I have mentioned before, so if they're even half good they're worth it. Alongside these we ate some barbecued pork puffs which had the correct buttery and flaky pastry to be contradictory and so brilliantly Asian (both right). They might be terrible at desserts but that seems to be because they've used their effort in putting strands of dessert into main courses.

Pork and prawn cheung fun (thin, white, pasta-like dumplings) were the highlight. Tender, salty and delicate meat fillings with silky smooth outer cases were exactly as we hoped (left). We also made it our business to try one of the yardsticks by which any dim sum meal can be measured: barbecued pork buns. I vividly remember eating these for the first time many years ago. My first taste of dim sum, I recall thinking "where have you been all my life?" These were not necessarily that good (maybe it's metaphysically impossible any others ever will be) but they were delicious enough: fluffy, moist, warm and comforting.

I really do like the part of London that sits proudly at the top of the tube map. It's fun, genuine and a place that really does appeal to a vast and diverse crowd. Lunch and tea time were both great fun. The latter was an unnecessary indulgence which revealed a decent neighbourhood Chinese restaurant: something which deserves noting in anyone's book. The former was a delight which I won't soon forget. I'll be back to both of these places I'm sure; just Odette's will be a more special occasion.

Odette's

Yum Cha Silks & Spice

Launceston Place...Again: Kensington, Wednesday 9th February, 2011

I've mused long and hard (if one can indeed muse hard) on re-visiting places with dire consequences before, so I shan't do the same here. Launceston Place, for the third time since I've been doing this blog, was another visit that provided much to talk about.

At the turn of the year, I had really been pushing myself. I was keenly showing my intent to apply for a vacant manager's position at work, a promotion which I did actually get (and one, incidentally, which helps to explain my posting slowdown in 2011), but in doing so I was close to burnout. I was instructed to take a morning or afternoon off and enjoy myself to get away from work. Naturally my mind quickly reasoned 'afternoon off = lunch out'.

The other half had a day off too, so we decided to once again sample Launceston Place's ridiculously reasonable lunch offer. It turned out to be even better during the week: £22 for three courses sounds decent, but considering the great time we had some months earlier, it sounded almost too good to be true. To top it off, it was one of those outstandingly sunny days which make the gradual end of winter and the eventual entry to spring a beautiful time.

Launceston Place has confounded certain critics in the press for some time. They believe the place deserves a Michelin Star and it remains a scandal that it hasn't had one yet. The food here is branded as British but I think it can't be pinned down to one sort of cuisine. Like many other popular venues, this is food based in Britain that has picked up traces of worldly spice along the way into defining quite a unique product.

On the other hand, some say this place is just trying too hard, that head chef Tristan Welch has gotten caught up in the extensive and diverse culinary background he has catalogued. (Welch has worked with Gary Rhodes, Michel Roux and Marcus Wareing amongst others.) I sit on the fence, safe in the knowledge that no Michelin Star means no price hike-up and more effort from the kitchen.

What I love about Launceston Place is the little touches they put into their meals. When you sit down, you get home-made devilled crisps (left). These are crunchy and flavoursome; a little greasy but fresh crisps should have a touch of grease about them. Just the ticket with a glass of fresh orange juice as we had here.

What followed was even better: home-baked bread with salted butter and pickled herring (right). This was excessive, filling, rustic and undoubtedly extremely English. There aren't many meals which good bread & butter can't improve and this as a starter was just the ticket. The problem was the crust being slightly hard and had that unwanted gum-cutting feel to it at times. That and the fact that you had wolfed down so much bread so quickly you didn't want to eat anything else.

Still, we weren't to be deterred by our bread indulgence and hungrily looked forward to our starters. As per our last visit, duck egg with toast, black truffle and truffle purée was nothing short of outstanding (left). The fumy magnificence of truffles is something that restaurants have a duty to get across (the misuse of truffles should be an arrestable offence) and in this starter, Launceston Place know exactly what they are doing. I don't see any reasonable way this dish could be improved upon.

The second starter looked so rich and heavy on the page that it did not appear to be a starter at all. Braised short rib of beef with polenta should really be something that comes in a steaming bowl with perfectly-cooked vegetables when you're hitting main courses, but somehow it was a starter here. It was rather pleasant: the beef was cooked exceptionally and the polenta was quite a fun accompaniment, as were the mini-onion rings on top. It looked great too (right). However, the nature of the dish was a little lost on me. For a starter, it was on the heavy side and it felt like more of a converted main course than an impeccably conceived dish. Maybe I'm nit-picking though; we devoured it.

Main courses proved to be rather fun too. It seemed Welch had gone for playful ideas and impressive concepts last winter. Chicken cooked au vin with bacon was, at first glance, one of those deconstructed, pretentious efforts of reviving a classic when you looked at it but when you tasted it you got the point (left). Two separate styles of chicken, one with a dark, sticky glaze and one with a more saucy, gravy-like accompaniment, worked rather well as a contrast. The bacon was smoky and rich enough to stay on the plate.

The stand-out was the pork, though (right). Cooked with cider wood (which they then left on the plate for show) and served with apple compote and hazelnut mash, the stuff was absolutely charming. Aside the inconvenience of removing the hazelnuts and debating whether or not to make a small shed out of the cider wood, the meat was divine, the potatoes were creamy and the small fruit jellies they scattered on top of the meat were the crowning touch. Seriously tender meat which made for superb late-winter lunch.

Dessert was of course necessary, but we were starting to feel the effects of the bread, crisps and other heavy fare we'd eaten up to this point. In a cruel joke of a move, they soothed us with lemon posset and thyme jelly as a pre-dessert (left). I say it was a cruel joke since they didn't need to give it to us, we probably shouldn't have eaten any more than we needed and it was a little out of place on a winter menu. It turned out to have the desired effect: eaten double-quickly, making one think it was clearing one's palate, as opposed to filling one up even further.

Picking ourselves up for the final push, we trudged into a treacle tart with creme-fraiche ice cream (right). Back to British for the desserts, this was really decent treacle tart. The pastry was verging on the dry side but the filling and the ice cream were both wonderfully pleasant and complimentary.

The last part was possibly the best. Unless the sun is out in spring or summer, you can't really get away with a rhubarb crumble on an English menu. Unless you call it 'baked egg custard, rhubarb and crumble'. Before you start sighing and shaking your head, let me tell you why this was a stroke of brilliant brio on the kitchen's part. Baked egg custard is not a summer dessert - rather than a sauce they're turning it into a pudding - and rhubarb, whilst synonymous with warmer climes in the UK, is apparently even better when it's force-grown in winter. Giving a stronger, fresher taste and a bright pink colour it lends more to the dish on all fronts. Finally sprinkle on the crumble and you've got your winter dessert. It was sensational (left). We practically fought over it.

They had one last chance to send us out of the door and straight to lie down with some lovely vanilla mousse and lemon madelines to finish with (right). This was great, enjoyable and excessive eating. Too much by half but we couldn't help ourselves. As I said, it's all about the little touches here.

The lunch we ate was not, as I mentioned earlier, something I'd label 'British' as it were. But it was filling, driven by the eager hunger, giving way to outright greed, of two enthusiastic diners. There's not a lot about eating that's more British than that. A Michelin Star may not be in the wings for this place - it's not French enough and the service is never perfect - but the food is simply wonderful.

Launceston Place

Taiwanese New Year: Phoenix Palace - Marylebone, Tuesday 8th February, 2011

This post could be entitled 'Chinese New Year', but anyone who knows me well knows that I am predisposed to label it as I have. My Taiwanese connections are strong and there are fewer worse faux pas you can make than assuming anyone oriental is Chinese.

Inter-country rivalry is something that has always fascinated me. Being the rugby fan that I am, I have a once-yearly showing of primal, chest-beating, nationalist pride with the coming of the Six Nations. Wouldn't you know it, the Six Nations runs right about the time of Asian new year. In fact, the preceding Saturday had seen England kick off their campaign with a victory in Wales. Given that a Welshman was amongst our attendees here, I was in the mood to differentiate nationalities. As such, Taiwanese New Year it was.

As a party of nine, we decided to celebrate the occasion at a venue well-suited to the group's size. We settled on Phoenix Palace, a well-renowned Chinese place near Baker Street. It's absolutely the right place to take a big group: tables of all sizes all over the place. It's the kind of place that you might not want to go if there are two of you; the greater the numbers, the better your chance of getting noticed.

There were many predictable negotiations on what we were going to order. Some wanted seafood, some wanted dishes we could share, Mike wanted meat and lots of it. I was happy to let the other half flaunt her expertise on both organisation and knowledge of oriental food. We got the order in and were presented with a huge array of diverse Chinese dishes.

We had a traditional Beijing roast duck to start. Ask more or less any English advocate of Chinese food which dish they like best and the odds are it'll be this one. Of course, the standard answer will be something along the lines of "that crispy duck with pancakes" but this is what it's actually called. And, in the true style of "that crispy duck with pancakes", this stuff was moreish, sweet and satisfying. It's essentially comfort food, but it's great to be sharing this kind of stuff with friends on a winter's night.

Sharing was certainly the name of the game this evening. Some people have reservations about sharing food but I have no time for this. One of the wonderful things about eating with open-minded friends is that you can get your fingers grubby, trust their hygiene and relish in the special atmosphere of communally enjoying a great time. Anyway, if you're that worried about hygiene, you shouldn't be eating in mid-price restaurants.

The cavalcade of dishes that followed was breathtaking, mainly for the fact that we had ordered so bloody much. To start with, some sweet & sour pork wasn't the usual pot of glazed gristle and sugar you get in your average takeaway... But it wasn't a million miles from that because that's more or less what sweet & sour dishes are. On the side, some mini pak choi (Chinese cabbage, essentially) was served with garlic, along with that semi-stewed, semi-overcooked feel you always get with Chinese veg.

Some stir-fried beef with mango was a new one on me (left). When you think of stir-fried beef, you conjure an image of either shredded or hopelessly overcooked meat swamped in thick, salty sauce. This was vastly different: a light, almost unique take on modern Chinese food, and one I did not expect: I would never have paired beef with mango.

Next up was an assortment of perfectly fried chicken. Wings, legs and thick meat all cooked to within a crispy skin of excellence. And served with prawn crackers, as if to remind us where our heritage in Chinese food comes from. Another new dish for me was some ostrich (right). I'd never eaten it but the idea of ostrich served with port and shallots, flambéed for good measure was enticing. And not particularly Chinese either. Wherever they got their inspiration, it was worth it for the spectacle and the unlikely sensation of a gamy jolt to a meal you'd not normally expect to get one.

The centrepiece of the evening was a whole seabass (left). The other half described it as "stunning" and the rest of us agreed. Served in a typically Asian way - soya sauce, ginger, coriander, garlic, spring onion and white wine - and presented as only a big fish should be: on the bone, whole, we loved it. Impressively fresh, tender and delicately balanced flavours. A winner with a bowl of rice on the side.

(This might begin to sound greedy now, but remember there were nine of us...) We inhaled a round of battered oysters (not quite as good as The Harwood Arms a month or so earlier) which were fairly amazing. Mike's comment  that the best way to get him eating seafood - "covered in greasy batter" - was actually a comment full of praise, though my one-time contributor has a flair for disguising goodwill as criticism.

Two final meat dishes saw us off: the imaginative but not out-of-this-world lamb with honey and asparagus (this seriously veered away from the Chinese feel of the food for me) and a very well-executed rotisserie selection (the pork belly was the highlight) because we didn't feel as if we'd done ourselves justice with the nine dishes we'd eaten thus far (right).

Phoenix Palace was a pleasant meal which was well-thought out, impressively served and enjoyed by all who attended. It wasn't overly pricey, though I don't think any of us went home stuffed. In terms of a bright, fun night out it's got everything going for it: decorations and zany Asian-ness oozing out of the walls. Well-liked by locals and importantly by tourists, it will continue to stand as one of the better and more popular Chinese restaurants in London. Their menu has more interesting and informed dishes on it than most other Chinese places I can think of.

I would say it didn't have the touch of class we might reasonably have expected - their list of celebrity clientèle is long and illustrious - but it was a great evening out with friends. It's rare that you want any more from life than that.

Phoenix Palace

Tokyo Diner: Soho, Thursday 6th January, 2011

The malady that many multicultural foodies in London commonly suffer from is that you can't get genuinely good Japanese food anywhere. There are exceptions: I personally enjoyed Ribon greatly and many seem to think Asakusa is as close to the real deal as you'll get in London. On price alone, they may have a point.

Chinatown is not necessarily known for its outstanding Japanese restaurants, but Tokyo Diner is standing strong as it approaches its twentieth anniversary next year. Richard Hills is the Englishman behind the venture which has brought a fairly consistent stream of success. Influenced by an extensive knowledge of Japanese people and culture, the inspiration behind the café is to recreate the sort of everyday typical restaurant one would find in Japan. Essentially, this place should have the same pull as Asakusa.

It doesn't, for a few reasons: it's not as charming, it's in Chinatown and it doesn't have the same feeling of authenticity as Asakusa. The only other factor is the food. A perfect test of this kind of restaurant should be an early evening cheap and cheerful lunch with a few friends. So here we go...

We tried a healthy sample of dishes, starting with a sashimi set of salmon,sea bream and sea bass (left). For 12 slices of raw fish, £10.60 is a bit toppy for a place that prides itself on being affordable, but they were rather fresh and refreshing. We also ordered a starter / side dish of chicken kara-agé which is chicken legs fried after being marinated in a soya-based sauce (right). You'd think they had been battered but the delicate balance they struck with the chicken made the skin crispy and the dish light enough to stay on the side.

Oyako don (or chicken with eggs and rice in a bowl) was fairly decent as a main course. The problem for me was that they'd pelted this with egg to the extent that it almost overwhelmed the chicken. Two of us had a tonkatsu bento box, which was fried and breadcrumbed pork cutlets with rice, pickles, sashimi and the typical seaweed-infested Japanese salad that, no matter how it is presented, always looks like the result of trawling a midlands canal. However, as with any good bento box, we were quickly mixing all parts of the assortment of food as quick as our hands and mouths would let us (left).

Finally, we sampled the chicken katsu curry, apparently the most popular dish on the menu (right). It was easy to see why: mild, enticing curry sauce with more or less meat 'n potatoes. Everyone should march out of Wagamama and proceed directly to Tokyo Diner to see what a more proper and earthy katsu curry tastes like. It's curry for the British who aren't obsessed with Indian food.

The issue that some people might take with Tokyo Diner is that it seems awfully try-hard, even patronising at times. They take it as their duty to explain the significance and popularity of each dish, even the styles of dishes, supplemented with extensive descriptions of what it is you're looking at. The haughty, know-all restaurant-goers amongst us may feel this is them blowing their own trumpet at just what a genuine experience they're giving us. We'll judge this for ourselves, thank you very much.

Not me though. This is the effort of somewhere that is so passionate and caring about what they do that they have taken it completely to heart. They are imploring the customer to not only enjoy their food but to embrace and immerse themselves in it and the cultural nuances of Japanese eating.

There is almost nothing to dislike about Tokyo Diner. They are open twelve hours a day all year long and apparently once turned over 550 covers in one day. I would wager that most of those people went home having had a lovely, bustling and lively meal which left them full, satisfied and not much lighter of pocket.

Possibly my favourite part of this place is their ethos on service and patronage. They insist you don't tip at the restaurant, apparently a nonexistent etiquette in Japan. All they ask for is that you recommend this place to your friends if you enjoyed it. Here's me doing my bit for them.

Tokyo Diner

A New Year to Forget: Boulevard Brasserie - Covent Garden, Friday 31st December, 2010

New year rarely lives up to expectation. Whichever house party, club party, boat party or cocktail party you've got lined up, the chances are it will be a swaying, over-full (or embarrassingly empty) shambles, with a few people getting hopelessly and ruinously drunk, fights breaking out or tears for no good reason. And the usual, tiresome scramble of everyone trying to get in the right position at midnight.

In London, you get the happy option of watching the big wheel burn as fireworks are streamed off in all directions, but the price you pay is standing at the riverside or on a bridge whilst the bitterly cold wind whips you silly. One advantage is the mass of people surrounding you act like penguins in keeping each other warm.

We eschewed the well-trodden path of new year disappointments in 2010 and gaily experienced a whole new world of pain with what was a grim way to end a fairly lovely year of eating. Mike, the other half and another friend of ours made a late booking at Boulevard Brasserie, a French restaurant in Covent Garden with the hope that, whilst this was clearly going to be an unspectacular meal, we would enjoy ourselves and ring in the new year both merry and satisfied.

Boulevard Brasserie is clearly one of those places that doesn't have much going for it apart from its location. Footfall may be the only thing attracting people to go in there because the image, brand and philosophy is as bleakly uninspiring as just about anything out there at the moment. It is marketed as a classic French brasserie, but the only classically French part of the evening was the poor service.

To get right down to it, the food was initially atrocious. Four of us dined and all four of us held the same view by the end of the evening. The deal was five courses for £50 with a kir royale to start. Given that two of us don't drink and one was on antibiotics, Mike drank four kir royales to himself. That was probably the highlight of the evening. For any of us.

Our first course was an appetiser of foie gras crostini. So they say. The bread which made up the crostini could've been made from wood and the paté was similar to puréed catfood in taste and cat waste in appearance. A shocker. Onion soup to follow looked like something close to effluvium from a medical facility (but tasted only below-par, surprisingly), while the ham hock terrine was similar to the earlier foie gras in terms of shocking taste and presentation. It wasn't finished.

The first of our second course of starters was a king scallop and spinach gratin. Christ almighty. This was like someone had blown their nose into a scallop shell and used it to make a base for the sauce. Runny, bland, dull and superbly poor. Secondly, a roulade of confit and smoked salmon made me wish I had been able to order the onion soup again. As with the ham hock, we didn't finish it.

Thankfully, mercifully, main courses were better. Mainly through the fact that they couldn't technically have been any worse. Pork belly was cooked fairly well; crispy on top and soft underneath. Some risotto with mushrooms, parmesan and truffle oil had enough hints of flavour in there to be worthwhile and was surprisingly not overcooked. The duck breast was probably the pick of the occasion, served with fondant potato (yeah, right) and some red cabbage. Bordering on enjoyable in the end. The fillet steak was most certainly not a good French fillet steak, merely a poor imitation of one.

We noticed with some irritation that midnight was nearing and it seemed they were doing their best to keep us in the restaurant as long as possible by flat out ignoring us or just taking far too long to do simple things like clearing our plates. The service throughout the evening was dreadful.

Desserts eventually came and with them, we hoped, the end of the evening. The small extras of pudding were just about worth hanging around for. Ice cream, crème bruleé and chocolate tart were acceptable, pleasant and okay in that order. Not as horrendous as some of the guff that had preceded it but by no means competitive.

They continued to do their best to rob us of our chance to catch some fireworks outside but I managed to get them to accept our money (I wish I weren't so damned honest) and we hastily left. The memory of a really bad meal lingers long in the memory but the night was saved as the other half and I tore down The Strand, fireworks booming in the sky above us, until we found a spot to watch the second half of the display. That's what new year should be about: a free, fun moment with someone you love. Boulevard Brasserie can't take that away from us.

Boulevard Brasserie

Michelin Guide 2012 - London Restaurants

It's that time again. No, actually it isn't that time again. With the Michelin Guide having been released just nine months ago, this is absolutely not the right time for a new guide. Still, the powers that be have realised that by releasing the 2012 guide in October, Christmas will become that much richer for the tyre-wearing restaurant reviewers.

Unsurprisingly, there haven't been many changes in London since last year. Dinner by Heston got its first star as everyone expected, Marcus Wareing missed out again and Alain Ducasse at The Dorchester still confounds those who opposed its third star in the first place.

In general, the heavyweights still reign in London. Ramsay's flagship restaurant deservedly (in my view) held on to its stars. The Square, The Ledbury (despite the windows getting kicked in during London's riots) and Hibiscus are all still in the two-star club. Unfortunately Pied A Terre lost one of its two stars which is something of a surprise, and Tom Aikens' main venue in Chelsea lost the one star it held previously, mainly down to a massive refurbishment. The only other demotion was Richmond's Bingham Hotel Restaurant.

The two new entries for London are Pollen Street Social, helmed by Jason Atherton and Christoffer Hruskova's North Road. Both promoting the kinds of food that everyone wants to eat these days (one main ingredient, other ingredients listed underneath), whilst retaining quite an individual slant within.

Last year I merely listed the restaurants according to area but didn't actually specify the area they were in. This year I've done it alphabetically along with the area to boot. You're welcome. Get out there and get eating. There are 54 Michelin-starred establishments in London so there's something for everyone. Here's to a food-filled 2012!

Three Stars:
Alain Ducasse at The Dorchester, Mayfair

Restaurant Gordon Ramsay, Chelsea

Two Stars:

Hélène Darroze at The Connaught, Mayfair

Hibiscus, Mayfair

L'Atelier de Joël Robuchon, Strand & Covent Garden

Le Gavroche, Mayfair

Marcus Wareing at The Berkeley, Belgravia

The Ledbury, North Kensington

The Square, Mayfair

One Star:

Amaya, Belgravia

Apsleys, A Heinz Beck Restaurant, Belgravia

Arbutus, Soho

Benares, Mayfair

Chez Bruce, Wandsworth

Club Gascon, City of London

Dinner by Heston Blumenthal, Hyde Park & Knightsbridge

Galvin at Windows, Mayfair

Galvin La Chapelle, Spitalfields

Gauthier Soho, Soho

Greenhouse, Mayfair

Hakkasan Hanway Place, Bloomsbury

Hakkasan Mayfair, Mayfair

Harwood Arms, Fulham

Kai, Mayfair

Kitchen W8, Kensington

La Trompette, Chiswick

L'Autre Pied, Regent's Park & Marylebone

Locanda Locatelli, Regent's Park & Marylebone

Maze, Mayfair

Murano, Mayfair

Nobu, Mayfair

Nobu Berkeley St, Mayfair

North Road, Clerkenwell

Petersham Nurseries Café, Richmond

Pétrus, Belgravia

Pied à Terre, Bloomsbury

Pollen Street Social, Mayfair

Quilon, Victoria

Rasoi, Chelsea

Rhodes Twenty Four, City of London

Rhodes W1 (Restaurant), Regent's Park & Marylebone

Semplice, Mayfair

Seven Park Place, St James's

Sketch (The Lecture Room & Library), Mayfair

St John, Clerkenwell

Tamarind, Mayfair

Texture, Regent's  Park & Marylebone

The Glasshouse, Kew

The River Café, Hammersmith

Umu, Mayfair

Viajante, Bethnal Green

Wild Honey, Mayfair

Yauatcha, Soho

Zafferano, Belgravia

Rules: Covent Garden, Wednesday 29th December, 2010

It's not always easy being English. Especially when it comes to food. I seem to be constantly embroiled in conversations or arguments where I am defending English or British cuisine to the hilt, maddened by the point of view that people seem to have ingrained in them: British food is bad. Not just bad; terrible in fact.

I tire easily of this wretched stereotype for obvious reasons: I am British, I love British cooking and so on. However, what frustrates me most about this is that people seem to be basing it on no experiences of their own. Or very bad, uncharacteristic experiences. 

That having been said, there is a hell of a lot of rubbish being dished up in Britain masquerading as "good old-fashioned home cooking". Pubs are guiltier than most of this. Many people seem to think a Sunday roast in a pub is celebratory good eating or representative of what British food is good for. This is rarely the case but it does sum up nicely what the matter with our nation is: not always the food, but the people in it.

To many of us, food is becoming a chore that we need to complete a couple of times a day. The rest of us are busy splashing money around like there's no tomorrow on the most expensive, exclusive restaurants around or writing blogs because we can't actually afford to do so. Too much food in Britain is an imitation of what we think people want to eat. I'm guilty of this too in as much as I love French and Italian food, and you only need to look at this year's Michelin Guide ratings handed out to London's restaurants to see what's popular with the culinary illuminati.

The main problem, as I say, lies with us in that we either heat up ready meals, eat in foreign restaurants or follow recipes meticulously. Dependence on, and pride in, the food of our land is not part of our national psyche. There's definitely something wrong with British eating, but it's not the food's fault. And I'll still defend it in arguments with people who say "but British food's terrible, right?"

Given that we did have a friend staying with us from overseas for the Christmas period, and that she has an open mind, we opted for something staunchly traditional and ever-so-English as our big meal out whilst she was with us. Rules seemed appropriate, given that it's the oldest restaurant in London and it celebrates that much-maligned cuisine of ours.

Rules is absolutely a London institution: proud, obstinate and far more for tourists than locals. There's not much wrong with it but it doesn't stir the same home-fire passions in me that St. John managed to a few months earlier. For starters, it is pretty tacky. That did have something to do with the fact that we were going there between Christmas and new year, but the setup is very much geared towards showing off ye olde England, as opposed to just England.

Another thing which stuck in my craw was the size of the menu. There is such a wealth of choice going around that you spend twenty minutes navigating the card before selecting from it. There is no need for menus this large unless you are either a multi-cuisine restaurant (terrible), trying to please everyone (a mistake) or just showing off the size of the kitchen (unnecessary). After such time had passed that we were warned dinner might be off if we waited much longer (admittedly we'd made a late booking - it was after midnight at this point), we selected and braced ourselves.

We had three salads to start: two seafood and one meat. The lobster & avocado and the Portland crab with wild herbs were relatively pleasant without much to say for themselves. The lobster was fresh but slightly overwhelmed by what I can only assume was the English equivalent of thousand island sauce (left). Too much of it for sure but lobster itself carried the dish through. Similarly, the crab was actually good but all you really got from the meat was celery which had been used to make up the base for the crab (right). In terms of the sauce, this one was spot on, but I couldn't quite get past the celery.

The ham hock salad, combining split pea dressing, quails eggs and chickweed with the ham, was slightly better (left). The flavours acted more coherently as a combination, with the peas refreshing the strong, meaty ham and the eggs adding a touch of rustic softness to the dish. My complaint was that the proportions were off, which left me with too much ham by the end.

Main courses were all about beef. The other half and I went for the house speciality, a rib of roast beef on the bone, with all the trimmings. Our friend went for a steak with Bearnaise and chips. The latter was a monstrous thing, more than an inch thick. It was, however, cooked exceptionally well and there was barely an ounce of fat on it. The sauce was good and the chips were proper. Of course it remained unfinished because it was simply too much food. Maybe that's the message that traditional English cooking sends: more is more.

The rib of beef was more or less a high-class roast dinner (right). This was proper beefeater, bulldog, three lions on the shirt, binge-drinking Englishness. The beef was rare and juicy. The Yorkshire puddings were crisp and light, the potatoes were good if too heavy and the veg was on song. I especially enjoyed the lively and rough horseradish on the side. It was good, to be sure, but at £33 a head for this dish (for two people) I felt it was a little too much for such well-trodden fare.

The one thing I could tell you, after the beef onslaught, was that we had probably picked the wrong choices considering we were eating so late. We were all fairly stuffed and so we sensibly thought twice about ordering dessert. Less sensibly, we ordered two between three and regretted it in many ways. The chocolate pudding and syrup sponge pudding were both heavy, too sweet and the kind of thing you can get on most supermarket shelves. Not terrible or totally unpleasant, just utterly unspectacular and not worth the £15 we paid for them.

That was that. It was after 1am, we had eaten way too much and spent over the odds for food that was indeed eminently British, just not quite as spectacular as we'd hoped. Maybe British food just isn't meant to be spectacular. Perhaps we are just a humble people who eat quietly, pay unquestioningly and move on. Maybe Rules isn't the institution which upholds tradition the way it should. And paying unquestioningly is undoubtedly British. The bill here was over £170 for three people with one glass of wine.

Maybe not: we did enjoy ourselves. Parts of the meal were good. The place is clearly committed to locally-sourced ingredients and serving them as they were meant to be served (even though it's not always perfect). There is enough to be said in favour of the place - almost on principle alone - that means it still belongs in our restaurant catalogue. If you want proper British class, St. John should do the trick. If you want all the trimmings on one of the longest-standing restaurants in the country, this will do you fine.

Rules

Pre-Christmas 2010 Round-Up

So, with the clocks about to go back to herald the coming of winter 2011, I'm almost done with my reviews from 2010. Pretty shambolic I know, but my excuses have been made, my day job remains away from food reviewing and I am still soldiering on.

December had already proved to be a fruitful month of eating, but the other half and I were informed by a mutual friend that she would be staying with us over the Christmas period. Never ones to turn a lady away on Christmas (I've heard you can get into the eternal good books for things like this, and we were happy to have her), we rolled out the sofa bed and started planning on where we'd go to eat. December was about to get a whole lot busier.

I will publish a set of specific reviews later on, but there were a few re-visits in there which I will summarise here. The journey began with a re-visit to Restaurant Michael Nadra. Certainly one of the stand-out west London restaurants and somewhere I'd enjoyed greatly on our summer visit there.

The quality remained fairly high. We didn't make a booking, so three of us were shunted in to a fairly late seating. Unfortunately this meant that quite a few of the dishes were off the menu since they had run out of them. Even so, I decided to run the beef gauntlet with some carpaccio followed by fillet steak whilst the other half went back to the tasting menu.

All things considered, Michael Nadra is still quite a draw for anyone in Chiswick. Whilst it's still not my favourite place in W4 (that honour goes to Le Vacherin), it's always worth a visit and considering its relatively low profile, I'd advise you pop in if you are in the area.

Christmas came and went with the usual family fun, I got off my crutches and began some fairly iffy rehabilitative physiotherapy, far too much was eaten around home tables and then we found ourselves back at Bar Boulud. It was fairly soon after we'd paid our first visit there so I shan't review in too much detail. Sufficed to say the afternoon tea (the main reason we went there: our friend wanted some and it was fairly affordable, along with decent quality) was still on song, but we decided to branch out into the burgers this time.

Without too much fawning, let me tell you that these were about as good as any burger I've eaten anywhere. I will be going into this in more detail soon, since this meal was later to felicitate a third visit to Bar Boulud within a year of us first going there, but it was pretty fantastic. For now, just look to your left...

Amongst all the excitement, we also happened upon a restaurant in Chinatown called New Fook Lam Moon. It was a fairly inconsequential visit there but we did try the marquee dish of the place: lobster noodles. As I wrote many months ago, these are quite fantastic if they come off, and whilst these weren't quite up to the standard of the Mandarin Kitchen, they were enjoyable: strong flavours complimented with perfectly cooked noodles. The dishes that came with them were negligible and forgettable, but the main event wasn't.

I also happened to pop in to Smiths of Smithfield - the restaurant empire within a building owned by Masterchef mainstay John Torode - for a spot of lunch with our friend one day between Christmas and new year too. Short and sweet enough to avoid a proper review, the pie and chips I ate was reasonably good, with not a lot else to say. I may go back there but the location is probably the biggest draw of the place. Perhaps breakfast after the market is the way to go?

So that more or less wrapped up 2010. There were just a couple of matters to see off before the year's end: what to do for new year and which should meal should we take our friend to for the main event of her trip?

The Harwood Arms - Fulham, Saturday 18th December, 2010

Christmas season on crutches (last moan about these, I promise) was a bit of a struggle. Particularly when the snow hit London. At first it wasn't too bad because we had proper, thick and blankety snow. The kind of stuff that you always wished for when you were a child but when it comes along now still makes you want to hurl frozen water at any moving target. As such, I could manoeuvre without too much trouble because the pavements had some give in them, so thick was the snowfall.

Towards the end of December, it would melt by day then freeze by night, giving Londoners a myriad of packed, frozen ice to contend with. Crutches tended to be both a hindrance and a blessing: I was uneasy on my feet but I had a couple of walking sticks to steady me.

Right about this time, one typically frosty and biting December night, there was enough snow left on the cars and walls to have a snowball fight but the pavements were proving mildly treacherous. The other half decided it was a perfect night to buy a Christmas tree for our flat. I was less than enthusiastic but, as ever, my opinion counted for little as we trudged, slipped and grappled our way to an outdoor tree dealer.

Buying a proper Christmas tree (and believe me, as anti-tradition as I am, I wouldn't have it any other way) is a bit of a pain, especially as you spend ages poring over the details of a piece of nature that will inevitably start shedding needles all over your front room within a few weeks' time then paying massively over the odds for it. The solution..? Grow your own and keep it. Let's move on.

Getting the tree home was a trifle difficult, since I was an invalid but I'm usually the one who does the donkey work. Rather impressively, the other half developed the idea of tying the bound tree to our little wheeled shopping trolley - the kind old people wheeled around at the end of the twentieth century - and merrily towed the thing home. Would you believe it, the idea worked and we suddenly had a Christmas tree at home. And all in time to go to an early dinner at a nearby Michelin-starred pub. Not bad for a Saturday afternoon's work in the snow.

The other half is not from London, or even from England. She is still enraptured by the snow as if she were five years old. Far from being irritating, I find it endearing, as I tend to with the attitudes of most people who remind me of my childhood. So, in a real blast from the past, she decided to lob a few snowballs in my direction. Endearment gave way to mild annoyance and after wearing a few, I insisted on a free hit. I duly lined up from ten paces and hit her flush in the cheek. It was mostly unintentional and we were noticeably, pointedly silent as we entered the Harwood Arms minutes later.

The Harwood Arms is a classy place. Mainly because of the personnel behind its inception. Brett Graham, head chef at The Ledbury, Mike Robinson, the man behind the Pot Kiln and a man named Edwin Vaux, from a brewery of the same name are the backers, and they have created something fairly special. It's not a simple business, getting a Michelin star in London. And it's even harder if you're a pub. For a long time, the two factors combined would have prohibited the place from getting any kind of recognition as a contender but times have changed.

In a moment of poetic justice, the other half burnt her hair in much the same way as I had earlier that year at Foxtrot Oscar. I say that because she had laughed mercilessly at the time and at regular intervals since. Well, the joke was on her this time. We began with some rather lovely bread and butter. The former was warm, comforting and strong and the latter soft, salty and smooth.

The two starters we ate here were spectacular. They were always going to be, right from the moment my rabbit and prune faggots were put in front of me (left). Served with turnip purée and mushrooms. At £6.50. The only thing that could possibly be wrong with this dish was the taste. And, no, nothing was wrong there either. Conceptually and practically perfect. Warm, punchy, gamy flavours soaked in proper English gravy. Not a jus or a reduction, real thick-but-not-too-thick sauce which makes you feel proud to be British. Gravy can do such a thing, apparently.

The funny thing was, this wasn't necessarily the best starter on the table. The oyster fritters on the other side were possibly even better. That's right: fresh, in-season Maldon oysters which had been shucked from the shell and dunked in batter (right). But not as crude as that: these were light batter coatings, only strong enough to let you know they were there. I'm sure there are purists amongst you that will baulk at the idea of battering oysters, but let me assure you that these were probably the best I have ever eaten.

Main courses were not expected to soar at the same peaks as starters, and so it proved, as often it does... We tried some lamb which sounded like it was going to knock our socks off. Braised shoulder with purple sprouting broccoli, rosemary broth, crispy haggis and green sauce (even though I don't honestly know what goes into a green sauce) should have been outstanding. In the event it was a case of style over substance. Or ideas over style over substance (left). The lamb was too dry and cloying, the rosemary broth was the poor cousin of whatever the faggots were served in and the broccoli was undercooked. I don't know why haggis was part of the dish; it merely served to further shunt the lamb into irrelevance. I think green sauce is also known as mint sauce.

Luckily for us, they pulled it back with the second main. Roast wild mallard with black pudding, creamed kale tart and artichokes was just a bouquet for all the senses (right). When one sees something such as a kale tart on the menu, one expects a side dish of piffling insignificance, dry and crumbly, which fills one up too much to enjoy the meat. In this case, the tart was the centrepiece of the dish, with the roast mallard sitting atop the flaky pastry in a glorious mix of tangy, deep red game and the sensible greenery of the kale, which had indeed been creamed to complement the duck perfectly.

Dessert, at this point, was academic. Only a disaster of titanic proportions could derail this evening's food. Fortunately, we were treated once more with Fulham's finest. The other half had the preposterously impressive earl grey tea ice cream with a side of vanilla doughnuts (left). Confident, cosy and, somehow, English. The ice cream was slightly bitter for me, being that it was tea-flavoured, but the doughnuts were warm, soft and totally fitting for the event, the venue and the dish. Mixing both components, along with the prunes in the ice cream bowl and the splodge of lemon curd on the side, made for fine pudding.

I went for the buttermilk pudding with poached pear and berry sorbet (right). It wasn't quite up to the other half's dessert' but it was rather good. Even though it was slightly on the sour side, the pudding was deliciously smooth and acted as a great pairing with the sharper poached pear. It looked rather nifty too.

The Harwood Arms deserves all the plaudits it gets: the star, the clientèle, the good reviews; everything. It's perfectly conceived in its aims and ideas. Do the simple things well (aside from that lamb) and all will fall into place. In the modern culinary climate of supremely cliched ideas on seasonal, local, British, traditional and various other words too widespread to bring up, this place has got it all. In a good way. It might be just a pub but the food is amazing.

On the way home I had no choice but to atone for my earlier dead-eye accuracy with the snowball, in case you're wondering. We got home red-faced and drenched in snow. Absolutely a good evening's work, despite the crutches.

The Harwood Arms

'Tis the Season: Bocca di Lupo, Soho, Friday December 15th, 2010

Christmas parties are quite often a huge drag. There's no getting away from the fact that the treadmill of work parties, fancy dress and goodwill to all men can turn into something of a formative distraction towards the end of the year. I have the 'privilege' of attending two Christmas parties in my place of work and - although one was an embarrassing wash-out - the sit-down meal at the Hyde Park Hilton (a yearly industry gathering, if you remember this) was a pleasant enough occasion.

As with last year's party, this evening ended very nicely with another impromptu trip to one of those places I'd heard of but never actually seen (like Indian Zing a month or so earlier). Bocca di Lupo is one of those Italian tapas places (very similar to Polpo) which are all the rage in Soho these days. It's apparently become super-fashionable to cut portions in half, tear down the kitchen wall and abolish dinner bookings for Soho's Italian experiences.

I suppose something in the area needed a re-vamp. Food in the eighties was all about the kind of overblown European (predominantly Italian) cuisine you could get in Soho, which gave way to the nineties miniature nouvelle faff, before British food came back in the last ten years. It seems the Soho restaurant Mafia (man I hope they exist) were biding their time before re-launching Italian food as a brand for the hipsters. Whichever way you look at it, Italian is popular in Soho again.

As with Polpo, one can see the attraction. It's busy, noisy and whitewashed. Back to the art opening with food instead of art, actually. Modern restaurants seem to either want to look like pop-up fashion boutiques or nineteenth century kitchens these days; both ridiculous notions unless the food is on song.

For the most part, Bocca di Lupo is right on. Mixing class with comfort isn't always easy but I think in this case the balance is fine. Fritto Misto was the same assorted battered seafood as the stuff we ate in Polpo but it was a cut above (left). The prawns, squid and aubergine were all delectably chewy and fresh - you could pick them out from the batter which, whilst hot, was also not greasy and added crunch and spruce to the dish, rather than distract from it.

We also ate a woodpigeon with polenta. If there's any dish that proves just how the culinary landscape of Soho has changed, this might be it. A fairly sophisticated idea; gamey, relatively off-piste meat with something so viscerally Italian you could grease your hair with it, yet served in such an uninterested, understated way. You want pigeon and polenta? Then that's exactly what you'll get (right). In the event it was nice; my common complaint with on-the-bone woodpigeon is that extracting the meat is a bit tiresome and this case was no exception. However, it was cooked well, the polenta was squishy and strong, so I shan't moan unfairly.

We also tried pasta, which is important at any Italian snack-house. Luckily for me, pappardelle was on the menu. I'm sure we've all come across cretinous types who suggest that pasta is all the same just in different shapes. Rubbish: those who know their stuff will attest to different types of pasta all lending unique qualities to a dish. Pappardelle is my favourite: thick, wide ribbons of just-chewy pasta are as good as it gets. Especially when combined with ox cheek, black pepper and tomato (left). Real heart of the earth stuff: it puts fire in your belly and a spring in your step. Of course, what is essentially fancy ragu with pasta could be considered a bit of a scam, but I'm enough of a believer in this to say it's worth the £8 for a starter portion you can get here. That's the price of ox cheek in Soho for you...

We decided to reel ourselves in with dessert in TGI Fridays of all places, down on Coventry Street. Something about a cheap brownie with sauce and ice cream made it really feel like Christmas. Despite having to convince them that we were in fact allowed to sit and only order dessert, it was a lovely, tacky ending to a night in the tackiest season of them all.

And that was that. I hobbled out of town happy that we had enjoyed a fancy Italian sharing meal. And a Fridays dessert. Excluding the Fridays dessert, that's just about the best you can say for Bocca di Lupo. Forget the pretence, the trendiness and the fact that you're eating somewhere everyone thinks you should be eating and enjoy the food and the atmosphere. It's definitely worth it.

Bocca di Lupo