Four Seasons: Bayswater, Thursday January 12th, 2012

Early January was a hectic time. The wedding was two weeks away, the wife (then fiancée) was struggling to recover from a bout of sickness that had sidelined us both over the holiday and the in-laws were about to come to London. We decided that, having endured a lengthy flight from Taiwan, the best way to start their stay was a little dinner in Bayswater, London's original Chinatown.

The Four Seasons is a chain with some clout when it comes to Chinese in London. They have two locations in the west end which are always packed, but it's this one that those in the know go for. Brimming with locals looking for quality takeaway and tourists who have lucked out, the spirit of a lively Chinese restaurant is alive and well on Queensway.

There were some very interesting parts to the meal here. Primarily the starter of diced warm seafood wrapped in lettuce: something that sounded and looked suspicious at best. I'm not a huge fan of large iceberg lettuce leaves in any food, especially if said leaves have been stuffed full of barely identifiable seafood. The result was an unexpectedly substantial and meaty pocket of wholesomeness. The seafood was well-cooked and it made for a comforting starter. Hot seafood inside cold lettuce: it does actually work.

One dish which Asia seems to have a constant affinity with is crab. Deep-friend soft shell crabs are often on Chinese restaurant menus and we tried some here. Cooked to a crunchy-soft turn, they were entirely pleasant until the chilli overwhelmed any glorious salty flavour they had. Too spicy by half, which was a shame given the crabs' quality.

Tofu with minced pork was a dish which lived up to my expectations entirely: good minced pork wasted by the addition of tofu. A pot of rice was as functional as anything else you're likely to get in your average Chinese and greens with garlic were as stringy and watery as they always are. But then there was duck.

One thing I (and the guidebooks) recommend you eat at the Four Seasons is their traditional Chinese duck. Served on a platter, (mostly) de-boned and dripping in rich soy sauce, this stuff is what you wish you got every time you ordered duck at a Chinese restaurant. Doing away with the tiresome fallacy of pancakes and cucumber, this is proper duck, the way it's meant to be eaten: with sauce and little else. Juicy, fatty, perfect.

The Four Seasons is definitely worth a trip if you're in the area. There are a number of good Chinese restaurants around Bayswater - particularly the Mandarin Kitchen - which deserve a visit, but there is something special in the air at the Four Seasons. As much a part of the community as Hyde Park, tacky shops and beautiful housing, this is somewhere worth your time.

Four Seasons

A Late Entry - Pollen Street Social: Mayfair, 28th December 2011

Shortly before Christmas, mired in wedding planning, the wife and I were debating our best meals of 2011. Including only London, since a couple of meals in Barcelona may've wiped the floor, the general consensus was that St John Bread & Wine's beef effort was pretty much the best thing we'd eaten locally all year.

But it had been a pretty amazing year of food. We'd had incredible highs and some worrying lows. It was an interesting debate in the build-up to a lovely family Christmas. Not that I feel a 'year in review' piece is necessary or anything, but the year itself was a lot of fun.

There was, however, one late contender for meal of the year. Pollen Street Social was booked on a whim as a Christmas gift for the wife and we did expect this to at least challenge for 2011 honours. Jason Atherton, refined at Gordon Ramsay's Maze, stole all the headlines this year with a Michelin Star for Pollen Street Social less than a year into operation, along with it being named the second-best place to eat in the country.

So, quite reasonably, we were expecting some fireworks for our money. It was a pretty nifty booking to have sorted, even though we could only get the last seating. There's something quite nice about sitting at a table in a place that you know everybody's been talking about. When someone next mentions it you'll be able to say "oh, I've been there." The question will then undoubtedly be "...and how was it?"

Things started well. The bread was delicious and complimented by some smooth, perfectly salted butter. That was lovely enough, but the canapés were something else. Home-made crackling pork was crunchy but not chewy (a real bugbear of mine when it comes to crackling) and was so indulgent it could almost have been candied (left). It was served with some divine honey-mustard sauce and salted cod purée. Utterly moreish (we got through two helpings) and totally refreshing: not the kind of pre-starter you expect to see in any Mayfair restaurant.

Things went from refreshing to stunning fairly quickly. My starter was placed before me and it made my head spin the second I smelt it, never mind how it looked. Parsley soup with truffled & breadcrumbed hen's egg, smoked eel and horseradish smelt like heaven in a dish (right). It was quite stunning, a perfectly-cooked egg the star. The soup itself was quite sharp but acted brilliantly as a counterpart to the strong, sweeter accompaniments.

The wife chose Atherton's take on the Spanish classic patatas bravas. A staple of more or less any decent Spanish place, this was certainly worth trying since Atherton's signature move is tapas-style stuff in a high-end setting. Social eating (hence the name), well-honed during his time at Maze. It was excellent, though not on the same level as the soup. The interpretation was thinly-sliced dried chorizo - which helped bring out the flavour - served on the side of pureéd potatoes and romesco sauce on the bottom (left). It was a triumph of altering textures whilst keeping flavour combinations classic.

Main courses were a real shock to the system. In the best possible way: they were exceptional. For a number of reasons, they altered my perception of a food I love at the best of times and the way customers are treated in decent establishments. Let's start with my main: venison (right). It was the best piece of deer I've ever eaten. Better than The Ledbury, better than Marcus Wareing, better than the lot.

The sliced, roasted fillet was completely perfect. The iron-y, gamey taste was a silkily rich set of weepingly sublime slivers. The offal faggot, whilst being ever so trendy, added a delicious variation to the dish. It was strong, tender and not at all up the nose as some offal can be. Chanterelle mushrooms, puréed potato and baked parsley root added to the dish in the best way. It was a combination made in the mind of a chef who knows a lot about what's popular, seasonal and tastes great.

The wife went for steak, as she tends to. This was special too. It was not in the same league as the venison but nevertheless a great dish with a delightful twist. Her sirloin was served with a couple of other cuts in cheek and tongue, keeping touch with the offal theme (left). It came served in the classic modern style of cutting up all the meat and layering it with bits of vegetables, dressing and jus.

There were two killer touches. The first was serving the whole lot with gorgeous dollops of caper & raisin purée. A sweet and tart accompaniment which brough variety and life to the dish. The second was the rest of the steak being served on the side with the meal. I've never seen this before in a high end restaurant and was gobsmacked. The decision to give an extra slab of sirloin to the diner is sheer class.

Desserts were preceded by some fairly disappointing chocolates. These were, it turned out, unnecessary and a wasted expense. We didn't dwell for long though, since our puddings were on their way. A caramel apple puff with calvados cream and vanilla ice cream was a sight for sore eyes (right). It was a well-thought out dessert, combining soft apple drenched in caramel with crisp pastry to create a sweet and bold finish, whilst remaining light. My complaint here was that the calvados cream was overly strong; the booziness of the liquor cutting through too sharply.

Our second dessert was an imaginatively served wonder. Chocolate pavé with mango was simple, elegant and utterly contemporary (left.) the chocolate was light, mousse-like and perfectly grounded with a bitterer, darker, thin layer of sponge. The chocolate work on top was pretty and complemented the dish instead of being a distraction as some dessert decorations are. The mango was a necessary burst of vibrant colour on the plate, but its necessity went deeper than mere appearances; the sorbet in particular was a perfectly judged light sweetness to contrast with the stronger pavé.

That was that. Stunned, we replayed the dishes and the experience in our minds. This was, without question, the best meal I ate in London all year. In fact, it was pretty much the best meal I'd eaten anywhere last year. The wife concurred. Excellent service, food and atmosphere. Adding in a special occasion at the end of the year, restaurant eating doesn't get much better than this.

Pollen Street Social

Trattoria Sorrento: Teddington, December 24th, 2011

I am prompted to reach for a quote from the inimitable Frasier. In episode 23 of season 2, the Crane boys visited a restaurant on the verge of closure, a place their family had quite a history. As they entered, it became clear the restaurant was a shell of what they remembered. Niles observed...

It's like running into a movie star you worshipped as a child, only time has left her hair brittle, her eyes sunken and dull, her skin waxy and sallow...

The delivery and dialogue (as ever) are impeccable. However, the point - whilst merely amusing on first viewing - has come to resonate quite extensively with me this year. Let me explain why.

For many years growing up, a restaurant at the end of the road was my favourite. A local, friendly, family-run Italian restaurant, serving perfect traditional treats such as rack of lamb, beef medallions, king prawns with garlic, all manner of pasta and a wonderfully quaint dessert trolley to finish. It was by some distance the best restaurant in Teddington and one that, on reflection, was serving up fine Italian fare to a neighbourhood willing to pay for quality.

The years took their toll on Sorrento. The declining television industry took away much of the traffic they accrued through post-show audiences (and even celebrities: Michael Winner's visit is an infamous tale from way back in the day) and mismanagement in general caused the place to close down. Many years passed, various other franchises came and went and nothing was quite right. It seemed that nothing could fill the Sorrento void.

Out of nowhere, a sign appeared on the long-vacant premises that Sorrento would be re-opening towards the end of the year. Local die-hards (and this includes me) celebrated, happy our favourite haunt was soon going to be back. My parents went in the autumn and declared the re-launch a big success. I was champing at the bit to sample it for myself.

My brother and his wife kindly offered to pay for me and the wife's meal there on a lovely Christmas Eve get together with parents. (Paying us back in kind for the birthday meal we'd treated them to earlier in the year.) The restaurant was packed, the holiday was upon us and we were all desperate for the kind of food that made this place one of those neighbourhood restaurants you really did believe in.

Back to my Frasier quote. This is one of the saddest meals I can remember eating. It wasn't the company (naturally) or the atmosphere, but the memories and the feelings I felt crumbling around me. It started with a lasagne (left). This was one of the worst excuses for genuine Italian I've ever had. It wasn't heated through properly which ruined it completely on every level. It tasted like microwaved slop. And the worst part is, I've had better microwaved and home-made lasagne than this.

The wife had some squid with tomato sauce (right). It was not as horrendous as my lasagne by any means but it still was not great. The sauce was acceptable enough but the squid was not worth any price outside of supermarket value. Forgettable and no more than functional.

The rest of the table were more complimentary about their starters. I don't know if it was that we were unlucky, but my father's sardines in particular were rather reasonable. The soft saltiness from the flesh was right on the money. As long as you've got the time to separate bones out from fish like this, it's worth it.

Main courses were where I truly hoped for a return to form. I went for beef medallions with Barolo red wine sauce (left). This was a dish which, many years ago, got me into eating red meat the way I do now. It has always had a special place in my heart (probably in the arteries). This was not what I remember. I asked for rare and I got the well-done side of medium. The sauce was embarrassingly thick and heavy. It was a deeply depressing plate of food.

The wife went for a steak and with pepper sauce and got more or less what you'd expect (right). It was rather nice in places. The meat quality was not the best as I had come to expect by the halfway point of the evening, but the sauce was excellent and merited seconds. Maybe things were looking up...

Desserts were as cute as ever, from the trolley and served at the table. I had a sliced apple tart which was reminiscent of something you might find in a canteen. A good canteen, I suppose, but I think by this point my morale was so low I would've been relatively unmoved by almost anything. The wife's chocolate cake was too airy for me but tasted alright.

I had had enough by this point. I felt fond memories of my youth dissolving in a sea of disastrous food and poor service. Oh, the service! A young man bringing food to the table announced each plate he brought to the table by practically shouting "watch out!" as he approached. It was a painfully amusing side note to a terrible evening's eating.

I must clarify that I don't feel particularly good writing this review. I actually feel pretty horrible, as if I'm hurting my home community, betraying myself and my family in the process. Maybe it's having moved away that makes me think of this restaurant in the same way the Crane boys thought of theirs. I am not technically a local these days. Maybe being local is what attracted me to this place originally? What have I become?

Well, maybe it's not as melodramatic as all that. I suppose if people want to eat the food and there are tables free, no-one goes home unhappy. Unless they keep the food at the standard I experienced on Christmas Eve. For their sake, I hope they fix it. This isn't somewhere I want to see fail - not again - and I still feel nostalgically attached to the place, even if they did their best to ruin my memory of it during this meal. There were times I felt like I was featuring on an episode of Kitchen Nightmares, so if I'm to go back here some time, I hope I don't feel like it again.

Joe Allen & Dumplings' Legend: Covent Garden & Chinatown, Saturday December 17th, 2011

Two Christmas parties having been taken care of - one with friends and one with work - it was time for the last festive hurrah of the season. The football lads' meal which included both ex-bloggers Mike and Tom was, as ever, held at Joe Allen in Covent Garden.

It is the ultimate in fun group dining. Despite the food here never being world-beating, it is solid. The burger was ordered again, and yet again, it was fabulous (left). With Byron and Bar Boulud being at the top of my burger list these days, it's so easy to forget how original the Joe Allen burger is. This was cooked rare as anything, served with classic fries and a gherkin.

The rest of the meal is almost not worth mentioning, so iconic is the burger. However, the standard was still at the reasonably high level we have come to expect: Eggs Benedict as rich as ever, salads as punchy as you could wish for, chocolate mousse cake a sweet treat (right).

The atmosphere really is the big draw here, as I have mentioned before. The vibrant hum of the place is one of the most genuinely lively and assured atmospheres you will find in any London restaurant. Friendly noise, helpful service and a well-judged pace make Joe Allen a remarkably comfortable restaurant as well as a fun one.

Some time and several bars later, two friends and I were still standing and in the mood for some late night sustenance. When you're in central London at some godforsaken time in the morning, the only place to go is Chinatown. As long as you can separate the wheat from the chaff, there are some really affordable gems to be had along Gerrard Street, Lisle Street and Whitcomb Street.

On this night we opted for the relatively empty Dumplings' Legend, a place the wife and I first tried a long time ago. Since then, it has apparently changed hands a few times, re-opened and generally been through the mill. I was quite surprised to see it still standing, to be honest. However, remembering there were some good parts to our previous meal there, I suggested this be the location of our final festive graze of the night.

It was a good decision. In their slightly squiffy state, my friends opted for some spicy seafood noodles and a simple Chinese curry with rice. Both of them wolfed it down. Each was way better than the sort of dreck you've seen dozens of times from your local Chinese and a different world completely from the sort of food most people are eating in the wee hours in central London.

My choice was simple and well-informed. Taiwan-style pork dumplings are what the place is famous for and  that is precisely what I was in the mood for (left). I mentioned a while ago that the dumplings I ate in Taipei were the best ever - quite rightly so too - but these were no mean alternative. Properly soft and slippery with a delicate as opposed to rough filling, these were actually impressive. Especially for the early hours of a Sunday morning.

With the December wind whipping through us, we called it a night. Back in the day a club would have been involved, but age is catching up with us. When you get to the stage where age begins to affect your social events, you want familiarity, comfort and value for money. On the last major event before Christmas, we had both thanks to a brilliant institution in Covent Garden and a half-secret one in Chinatown.

Joe Allen

Dumplings' Legend

Byron Burger

In the world of eating out regularly, enjoyable constants are hard to find. There are those places you'll keep going back to, but finding one is not easy. As any regular readers will know, my ongoing romance with Le Vacherin and Launceston Place are testament to this. However, the kinds of places I feel the most smug about are the ones you see everywhere. Gems in front of you which other people might dismiss instantly.

Byron Burger is one such gem. The burgers here are just about the best you can get whilst still paying a reasonable price. Currently London-confined, the chain is about to expand all over the country and by golly, everyone's in for a treat. I remember going to Byron for the first time in Westfield and being thrilled that they did proper burgers, cooked to order, and a great milkshake to go alongside.

Since then, I couldn't tell you how many times I've been to various Byron branches across London. They are always there; convenient and appealing. The classic is always enough for me: a rare burger with simple trimmings, sauces and chips. It doesn't get much more satisfying. Add in a milkshake or two (if you're feeling adventurous) and it is exactly what you expect and hope for.

All that said, I worry if the Byron ship might be about to sail. Last time I was there, I mentioned I wanted my burger rare and they said I would have to do with medium rare. Not quite what I was expecting. It seems hard to believe that with the constant expansion (a new one seems to pop up in London every month or so), the quality and consistency won't suffer. I truly hope not, because this is one chain I'm absolutely stuck on.

They won't let you down, they won't overcharge, they won't do anything outside what you're expecting. Byron is (at the moment) the best chain restaurant in London, probably in the UK. They are superb at what they do and it is something worth trying out when you get a hankering for a decent burger at a decent price.

Byron Burger

Da Polpo: Covent Garden, Friday December 16th, 2011

Russell Norman is single-handedly re-shaping comfortable eating in trendy parts of central London. The brains behind Polpo, an instant smash hit in Soho, he and business partner Richard Beatty now own a belt of restaurants across the middle of the capital, with three restaurants serving Italian bar food, one (Spuntino) serving American diner food from the 19th century and one (Mishkin's) serving Jewish deli fare.

It is a great success rate. The franchises have been developed on the idea of doing things very simply and very well. It is, in essence, exactly what modern places should be doing if they want to remain current and fashionable. The cost to set the places up is remarkably low and the philosophy admirable. It makes for an extremely impressive burgeoning empire.

In December last year, the wife and I decided a little after-Christmas party food was in order. As with one year prior, a bit of Italian cicheti (tapas) was on the cards. We first tried Polpetto, given that I had heard a lot about it: there was a power cut in Old Compton Street. On to Polpo, remembering how much we had enjoyed it first time: there was an hour or so wait for a table. Finally to Bocca Di Lupo, hoping to re-enact last year's fun: there was no availability at all.

And so we found ourselves in Covent Garden. The final hope we had was in Da Polpo, the most recent Italian addition to Norman's brand. It's also the biggest, which I didn't know at the time. Had I know this, we might have gone straight there instead of trekking around the west end in vain for the best part of an hour beforehand. There was no wait for a table and we were in the mood for cicheti, that's for sure.

We started with some arancini, the fried and breadcrumbed rice balls which can often be doughy and unappetising. These were a bit of a treat (left). Small but perfectly moist yet solid within, the mushroom and cheese inside was a great set-up for the meal to come. At £2.50 they may have been a bit of a stretch, but quality almost always trumps price. In Covent Garden it certainly does.

Our next plate was moscardini, which are little octopuses. They were served drizzled in olive oil and some mild herbs and, despite looking rather scrappy, actually tasted rather good (right). Not chewy, slightly meaty, semi-soft, they were another welcome plate on the table. That, I think, concluded what one might term as 'starters' and 'mains' came along. My vagueness is because the plates are so haphazardly brought to the table that it can be tricky knowing where you are with your meal. I don't believe this is a bad thing, though. It adds a touch of rustic frivolity and homeliness to the occasion.

Next up was a dish which sounded as rough and brutish as anything you'd be able to find in an Italian bacaro: roast pumpkin, speck (rich, savoury ham) and ricotta (left). It was a disgrace. The pumpkin was stringy, undercooked and sour. The ham was strewn messily on top with the dry cheese matted in amongst it. I managed a few measly mouthfuls before packing it in. A waste of time, effort and - ridiculously - £7.50.

Fortunately, the next course re-railed the meal in a comforting way. Spaghettini and meatballs was a lovely reminder of what great Italian food can be like in a restaurant, a bacaro or at home (right). Al dente pasta, perfectly solid & soft meatballs along with a slightly spicy tomato sauce: there's nothing more you need.

Our final dish was a pizzette bianca, or a small white pizza. Light mozzarella, mild onion and some dough to add a bit of weight to the meal made for a good accompaniment (left). It was another winning and reasonable dish at £5.

Overall, the meal was definitely worth it, leaving a small impression on the wallet but a bigger one on the palate. Da Polpo is probably the safest bet if you're in the mood for some cicheti in central London. It's got the shortest waiting time of any of Norman's restaurants and the menu is as reasonable and fun as the rest of them. It's certainly the most 'now' way of eating if you're in the area, so my suggestion would be to swing by if you're passing through.

Da Polpo

A Warm Welcome Home - St John Bread & Wine: Spitalfields, Saturday December 10th, 2011

So, Taiwan was done. Two heavenly weeks meeting the best in-laws anyone could hope for, seeing the sights of a wonderful city and eating ridiculous amounts of local food. 'Ridiculous' is the word, because one thing I can tell you about the people of Taipei is that they love to eat. And they do it in some style. I lost count of the amount of large meals we ate as I sat stunned at the array of food that was being impressively devoured before my eyes.

I must confess I've quite an appetite and very often I will eat way more than is necessary, healthy or advisable. However, I was constantly being told that, by Taipei standards, I was not eating enough. It was a fantastic concept, having sat through twelve or so plates of (mostly) delicious food, that someone who didn't want two kinds of soup on top of it all was not eating enough.

There were some stunning highlights. A teppan-yaki style meal cooked before us at the table (some of the best food I've eaten ever), freshly barbecued quail eggs next to an estuary, hot custard buns in a street market, home-cooked lamb soup & breaded pork, truly exceptional Taipei dumplings (with truffle!), tender beef barbecued at the table, outstandingly fresh seafood, beef noodle soup the likes of which I've never eaten before and dim sum to die for. This city is a culinary treasure.

One thing I observed about eating there was how keen everyone was to do it. Dinner was a huge event in the day; something that many have noted is sadly lacking in British culture. We've become about convenience and penny-pinching (a lot of that may be the recession) whilst our food has suffered.

And that's where St John comes in. One of the greatest franchises in British cooking, their outposts in London have garnered a well-deserved respect over the years. I've now sampled all three of their restaurants and thoroughly enjoyed each one, even if every experience hasn't always been perfect. The Restaurant was a glorious pig-eating group triumph, Bread & Wine a delightful surprise of an afternoon's eating, the Hotel a fantastic breakfast.

And in December last year, our first meal out after returning home was back to St John Bread & Wine, with another large group. Invoking the spirit of our amazing holiday but keeping things ever so local, it was - in theory - just what we needed.

The menu was similar to the whole suckling pig we'd enjoyed the previous year in that it was a festive feasting menu. The principle was consistent: pick something to eat, all of you eat it. The exception was in the case of vegetarians, which they dealt with at the table. The event itself started out on a whim. I sent the menus to a few colleagues of mine, implying only that the options were worth a look, when all of a sudden they were talking about when we should go.

Sucker for organisation (and feasting) that I am, we were on the way. Other friends were notified, a date was picked and a menu was selected. There were a few appetising possibilities but we had to have the beef. There was something about the three-courses that looked totally appealing; a mixture of familiar and slightly challenging.

The table was set, the company arrived, the drinks were poured. And out came our first course. Ox heart with celeriac was a dish that most people baulked at when I mentioned it to them. When you stick offal into anything it can put fairweather diners off and this certainly did sound like a slightly steep one. When it was brought out, any lingering doubts I may've been harbouring were dismissed.

Ox heart is basically like the thinnest, leanest steak there is. And it's made even more impressive when served with a pile of crunchy celeriac doused in horseradish cream (left). This stuff was intensely meaty, perfectly balanced with creaminess, bite, softness and - somehow - it was rather light. It was an absolute triumph and we were suddenly desperate to continue the beef goodness in the form of the main course.

The centrepiece of the evening was either going to be as great as we all anticipated, or an unmitigated disaster. Braised beef with horseradish and dripping potatoes is clearly something conceived in the wondrous margins of heaven and earth, so messing it up should come with some sort of eternal damnation. Or a culinary suspended sentence.

Happily, this was entirely exquisite. The braised beef was made up of oxtail and cheek. It was cooked to a perfect turn, falling apart on our forks, swimming in stupendous braising liquor (right). It was the best slow-cooked meat I have ever eaten. A mixture of heavily-browned and feisty red colours combined in the beef to make the whole thing varied, enjoyable and just about perfect.

As great as the beef was, it was practically upstaged by the potatoes (left). Cooked in beef dripping, I had one of those rare moments one is sometimes lucky enough to experience when eating out: these were actually perfect. I finally got the fuss about cooking stuff in beef dripping (I've never done it myself) since these were crisp, fluffy and greasily glorious. All the clichés about great British roasts apply here: I've never eaten better.

There were a few minor grumblings at the table that some token vegetables might have improved things and I could see the point. Beef, gravy, potatoes and horseradish is not a hugely varied combination. Some greens on the side might have been a nice touch of colour and variation, but the simple truth is we didn't need it. Food this good is fine as it is. We scarfed down the whole lot unceremoniously and loved it.

Pudding was syrup sponge with custard. And this - there's no point in dancing around anything now - was also the best I've ever eaten (right). Perfectly drenched in syrup, the sponge was nicely firm but perfectly soft and airy. The custard was right on as it ought to be at any fine British establishment, making the whole thing a deliciously sweet and indulgent delight.

So, three courses, each the best of its kind I have ever eaten. Not bad for an evening's work. The inevitable comparison here was with the suckling pig from St John Restaurant. I loved both meals, but in terms of consistency and quality for each course, this was actually better. Everything worked perfectly (apart from the vegetarian main course; a mixture of cheese, lentils and vegetables that resembled baby food more than anything else) and everyone went home happy.

It was a fantastic way to get back into English eating after having gorged ourselves so extensively in Taiwan. But it was also heartening to see a big group dinner go so well. As with the first big St John meal, some of the guests didn't know each other but the spirit of sharing and togetherness was indeed representative of the festive season. There's nothing less British than a huge celebratory dinner meal just because you feel like it, but in doing so, it was one of the best meals I ate all year.

St John Bread & Wine

Quo Vadis: Soho, Friday November 11th, 2011

As I've written about previously, the end of November marked a two-week holiday in Taiwan for me and the wife (at that time, 'the fiancée'.) To say I was terrified would be an exaggeration. To say I was worried would be an understatement. I was meeting her family and closest friends for the first time and was not sure what to expect.

What I got was a stunning introduction to a phenomenally welcoming culture and a reassurance in the family I would shortly be joining. They were supremely friendly and hospitable and I loved the whole trip. As an aside, I do recommend a holiday in Taipei for anyone wanting to experience Asia for the first time. It's a wonderful city.

There will be more on this trip in as London-restaurant-friendly a way as I can manage over the next few pieces, but before we left on the Sunday evening, there was a small matter of Quo Vadis resurrecting their 50% off deal through Toptable. Eating there previously, we'd had such a good time we allowed ourselves one final hurrah before a weekend of packing and nervous preparation.

It was an early Friday evening affair, where diners generally want to be in and out with a minimum of fuss, whilst still being able to enjoy their dinner. They had also put a turnaround time on the table, so there was little time to waste. Bread and butter came and were lovely. Orange juice came and was sent back because it tasted off and the new glass wasn't much better.

Starters were seafood, main courses were meat and desserts were traditional. If there's one thing we learned last time we were here, it was that this is how you do it at Quo Vadis. Oysters, according to the wife, were "just okay". She knows a thing or two about hard-shelled seafood and on tasting them I had to agree. Not bad, but nowhere near the best.

My crab on toast was a fleeting glance into what might have been. Beautifully presented, light pink meat on top of some thick toasted bread was lovely in patches but remained bland in the main, under-seasoned and overcooked. Frustrating and, maybe worse, just dull.

Main courses looked set to shake any worries we had since they sounded utterly terrific. Middlewhite pork chop with mash is a dish that should be simple, elegant and outrageously big-tasting. In the event, this actually surpassed expectation. It was a well-grilled chop, reminiscent of perfectly barbecued meat, along with a gorgeously caramelised fatty fillet. It was truly excellent.

My choice was roast partridge with curly kale and fondant potato. A match made in heaven, you'd think, but there were problems all over the shop with this one. The kale was in some sort of piping hot ragout in a metal pot. It was too hot, too watery and a sight too out of place on the side of a whole partridge. The bird itself was too pungent, getting up the nose instantly and not going away. It was stuffed with watercress which made it look interesting and colourful, but added little in terms of taste. Mind you, that only kept it in line with the fondant potato, which seemed more for show than anything else.

It had been hit and miss so far, but we expected desserts to perk things up a little. A crème brulee was a shot of sweet smoothness as every custard-sugar pudding should be, but it didn't wow us in any meaningful or memorable way.

The sticky toffee pudding, however, was a delight. Kept simple with drizzled syrup and a scoop of ice cream on top, this is exactly what an English pudding should be. Nothing too fancy except delicious flavours and perfect texture. This was such a heartening dessert it restored my faith in a pudding which has been ruined and bastardised in the worst ways by kitchens everywhere.

And that, all of a sudden, was that. There is no denying that Quo Vadis the second time around was nowhere near as good as the first. The two stand-outs were the pork and the toffee pudding, but all else was short of the mark. It may be that Quo Vadis is just on the slide, or it may be that it was a busy Friday night. Either way, I'll not be leaping to go back, even if I see half off the menu again.

Quo Vadis

The Anglesea Arms: Kensington, Sunday 23rd October 2011

There are indulgences in life that can sneakily trick you into succumbing without really realising you're overdoing it. I'm not talking about anything particularly outrageous here, just the odd meal out when you shouldn't really be having one. (Seems a little tame after the build up I just gave it, but there you go...) In the run-up to our fortnight in Asia, we'd agreed that we weren't to go out for any meals. In the event, this was the third of four.

The Anglsea Arms is part of the Capital Pub Company which owns The Ladbroke Arms, a place I once lauded as being the very pinnacle of great pub grub. I stand by the review to this day in saying that the food there was excellent and we had a lovely time. In fact, the two gentlemen I went with (who were once behind writing this very blog) still say that it was the best meal the three of us have eaten together.

With all that in mind, I was quite reasonably expecting a lot from the Kensington outpost of the Captial Pub Company's empire. With nothing to do on a Sunday night, we decided that was the place to go (it having been voted as the number one gastropub in Harden's a year or so ago), and that for some reason it was an expense we could afford.

We were certainly wrong on that count. I had not been keeping an eye on my finances as well as I ought to and was subsequently alerted by my bank the following week that I had gone overdrawn beyond my limit. A fairly ignominious phone call to receive and one that had me cursing my spending in the weeks preceding. Naturally the Anglesea Arms copped a bit of flak on that front, so the question is: was it worth it?

At first, the Anglesea Arms is nothing like the Ladbroke Arms. It's cosier, older, more as you might expect from a traditional pub. There is dark wood and paned glass everywhere. The bar area itself was rammed - and I mean rammed - with Sloanes and posh knobs trying to see who could laugh louder than the next group. I was fairly dismayed and suggested to the wife that we'd better look elsewhere. She insisted we at least enquire about the wait for a table and so we asked at the bar.

Joy of joys, the restaurant is another area of the place entirely. A sub-level section at the back, suddenly the guffaws of the wealthy were no longer an issue and the room was ours. Rustic, dark chocolate-coloured tables and shimmering candlelight were our ambiance, so we broke out a deck of cards and glanced over the menu.

There was a lot to get excited about pretty quickly. Clearly the Anglesea is similar to the Ladbroke in that they have a fairly English menu with elements of European refinery running through it. We went for a fairly home-centric set, thinking that this should be what they did best. Hungry and blissfully unaware the meal we were about to sample would plunge me into financial strife, we tucked in.

Starters were more or less a continuation of the excellence we'd sampled at the Ladbroke. The wife went for a salad, which is most unlike her. But let me clarify: this was a 'salad' of sweet potato, quail's egg and chorizo. With some broad bean and lettuce thrown on for show (left). The sweet potato was cooked to a mouth-hugging softness, which was offset by the bolder chorizo. The egg on top added some smooth wholesomeness, completing the dish nicely.

My choice was a chicken, pea, celery & carrot broth, with tarragon crème fraiche on top (right). It was served with crusty bread and was piping hot (perhaps a shade too hot in the event.) It was delightful, a real homer of a starter, reminding us what great British food should taste like. Distinct yet well-combined broth flavours and a texture that was chunky enough to keep the broth away from being overly thin.

I made a big mistake on main courses: ordering the Sunday roast. It's the most clichéd decision one can make when eating at a pub, but the voice in my head told me that this place really should be able to get it right. They should have been. They should have been... They weren't, sadly. I suppose I got what I deserved. Roast beef was well-cooked and moist (left). Gravy was acceptable and the cauliflower purée was a splendid touch. Sadly, the thing was festooned with green beans and the potatoes weren't cooked enough. It wasn't all there and I was a little upset, with both the food and myself.

The wife was far wiser than I, opting for rabbit braised in cider (right). It was served with mash, mushroom sauce and spinach. It was an exceptional dish; one of those that you want to start bragging about as soon as you've tried it. The rabbit was tender as anything, falling apart with little provocation, wonderfully complimented by the creamily smooth mash and the mushrooms. It was a delicious and perfectly constructed plate of food.

Desserts were ordered but we were beginning to feel the effect of some hearty fare earlier on, so we kept it simple: a crumble to share and some truffles on the side (left). The chocolates were as silky and rich as those at the Ladbroke (the one constant between the two meals) and we enjoyed them in that smugly, indulgent way in which one tends to enjoy good chocolates.

The crumble was a different matter. Apple & blackberry with custard should've been a glorious walk in the park for the Anglesea, who had proved (beyond the curse of the pub roast dinner) that they could cope with classics. Unfortunately, it was a bit of a mish-mash (right). The contents of the crumble appeared to have been cooked unevenly, and were too chunky. Great crumble should practically melt in the mouth and this was too much hard work. The topping was also unevenly cooked; charred in places, even. But somehow, it wasn't rubbish. The custard was proper and even though it was super-hot there was something to be said for its homely quality.

The Anglesea Arms is certainly a pub worth visiting. You can dictate the pace of your meal: it's not essential to have three or even two courses and the atmosphere is friendly yet reserved. The price is, well, okay. As I said, it was more to do with my irresponsibility than anything else that we spent £60+ on dinner here. The roast was definitely overpriced at £14 but the rabbit was definitely worth the £16 they were charging.

The highs make it worthwhile. Do yourself a favour and drop in next time you happen to be in Kensington (and you may as well get to the area - a nearby walk is as lovely as it gets for suburban central London), it will be worth your while. A bite for lunch or a more formal dinner would be equally well-suited here, which makes it an excellent food pub. Good job, Capital Pub Company. Again.

The Anglesea Arms

Kaya: Mayfair, Saturday 22nd October, 2011

Working lunches are a wonderful thing. Many's the time I've reminisced about darting out for a couple of hours when I worked in Fitzrovia to enjoy some tapas, pasta or a Nando's. There's something superb about being able to disassociate oneself from work and enjoy a time-out with colleagues. I have always been entertained when lunching with colleagues in that there's a common theme uniting everyone, so conversation never seems forced.

These days, work lunches are few and far between. I no longer work at a place where I'm surrounded by good friends. I don't have the time available that I used to. And I really miss it. But there is always something else around to perk one's spirits up. Usually any working lunch I have these days involves the wife visiting me on a day off, or me going to see her on a Saturday lunch time.

Hours are always the biggest issue when it comes to lunch during work time. I once remember having to eat half a chicken in five minutes because it had taken so long to come. That was an interesting afternoon's work I can tell you. Whenever I meet the wife for some work lunch, it's always rued that we could've done with 15 minutes or so longer.

Still, sometimes you don't need the extra time. One Saturday when autumn last year was kicking in, we decided to pop into Kaya, a Korean place on Albemarle Street in Mayfair. There is something slightly incongruous about there being a Korean place in Mayfair, but makes some sense when you find out it's just around the corner from the enormous Korean Air office.

The place itself is not amazing and not too bad at the same time. I had some bibimbap for lunch which I thoroughly enjoyed. A mixture of pickled vegetables, rice, eggs, spices and meat, this is a perfect way to get a load of food inside you with as little fuss as possible. Elegantly served in a stone bowl, there is enough of a touch of Mayfair about this place to make it sustainable in the area and appealing to the customer.

The wife was not particularly enamoured with her kim-chi tofu soup (I can't understand why anyone would be to be honest). She believed that the food was "normal but pricey." I don't have much of a frame of reference for this, but I would say that she has a point when Kaya is compared to Assa, at the other end of Piccadilly. This is a little steep in comparison. And the quality isn't too different either.

I believe the Mayfair premium is the biggest factor affecting price here. It's not the best Korean food in London but it isn't to be sniffed at. There are some extraordinary restaurants in Mayfair, but for a quick working lunch, this might be one of the best.

Kaya

Heinz Beck Revisited: Knightsbridge, Sunday 9th October, 2011

London Restaurant Festival came around in October and this year the event really had to take a back seat. Coupled with the wife's 30th, numerous meals out beforehand as well as a rent increase, the fact that we were about to take a holiday hung heavy on our spending. As a newly-engaged couple, it was high time I got to meet the parents. Two weeks in Taiwan had been booked, so our spending was highly curtailed.

However, a cheap lunch offer at Aspley's (or, as we prefer to call it, 'Heinz Beck') was too good a chance to miss. The wife, a friend and I attended with high hopes for a repeat of the enjoyable lunch we sampled some time ago.

The bread was as thrilling as it had been the first time (really!), with a repeat of the very thin paper stuff I loved so much last time. I remembered to ask about it this visit, and was told it is called striga. At least that's how they pronounced it. Trying to verify such a name on the web has proved impossible, but I'll stick with this for now. It remained a treat, as did all the bits and pieces with oil and salt.

The pre-starter was some truffle arancino with asparagus cream (left). Arancino are fried rice balls which doesn't really prompt visions of toppy Italian dining, but when they are served in such an elegant and refined manner, they're just what you want to kick off a fancy lunch.

Starters were utterly stupendous. Our friend opted for the mackerel salad which was a sight for sore eyes (right). A veritable garden of textural and visual variations, the delightful cold fish was interwoven with the lettuce, beetroot and dressing in the most elegant way. A treat of a starter and no mistake.

The wife chose the pasta of the day, which was more asparagus, but this time as a chopped topping for mushroom-filled tortellini (left). These were as soft and succulent as pasta gets. Cooked to perfection, perfectly proportioned and a delicately balanced flavour combination: what more could one want from a simple plate of pasta?

I went for the pumpkin soup, which took the title of prize starter (right). Or it would've done were there such an award going. A strange, deep dish was brought to the table, containing all manner of paraphernalia. A quenelle of strange-looking gel sat in the middle, with a wafer of what looked like melted cheese. Pearl barley dotted around the plate with carrot, bacon and bread also making appearances. It looked like a right old muddle until a small jug of the thickest, creamiest pumpkin soup was poured in. This was absolutely the best of the best. Thick, warm, rich soup nestling in the crevasses of the accompaniments which I could've eaten twice and then thrice if you'd offered me it.

Simplicity is so important when it comes to Italian food; even in these most upmarket of circumstances. What I loved about all three starters was their true nature. Nothing was overly complex (apart from maybe the contents of the soup dish) but it all worked in the most satisfying way. Nothing could be more Italian than that, whether you're paying £5 or £15 for a starter.

The wife's main course maintained the simple theme, coming in the form of scallops on saffron risotto (left). The idea alone sounded glorious and it looked a pretty picture too. Naturally, this was right on the money as well. Tender, soft risotto with exquisitely pan-fried scallops was a brilliant and simple - yet opulent - combination. Lovely to be sure.

My friend and I went for the choice of 'Segovia pig' (right). I was intrigued by this because I really had no clue what to expect outside of some pork. In the event it was much, much more than that. The main pig part of the dish was centred on some thin fried bread wrapped around a gorgeous chunk of fillet. Segovia pig is apparently a roast suckling swine cooked to the point of the meat falling apart in the best way. That was certainly the case here. Covered in a sweet blueberry jus, the whole thing was tied in fantastically with the slivers of bacon and vegetables adding the finishing touch. It was reminiscent of the quail we'd tried here the first time of asking, but far better.

Having gorged ourselves silly on bread and then two outstanding courses of deliciousness, we decided dessert wasn't necessary (or wise, given our upcoming financial exploits). However, we were still presented with a lovely plate of pre-dessert goodies (left). Similar to last time (though not quite as nice), it was a lovely touch and a good reminder that they really do take care of you at Heinz Beck. It isn't snooty or pretentious, just great food and service.

I think that's all that really needs to be said for such a restaurant. It's somewhere that I was intrigued by on the first visit and enthralled by on the second. If I was a little undecided whether I was coming back for a proper meal after the first time, I'm sure I'll do so at some point now. This is some of the most pleasant food you'll find in London.

Aspleys, A Heinz Beck Restaurant

Butler's Wharf Chop House: Southwark, Monday September 19th, 2011

After the weekend of indulgence in celebrating the wife's 30th, another meal out wasn't really what I had in mind come Monday of the new week. However, her auntie was in London as part of a corporate holiday and so it seemed only fair that we at least say hello and spend a little time with a family member who had travelled over from Taiwan.

In the event, another dinner it was. Butler's Wharf Chop House is part of the D&D Group, which controls a hefty number of London restaurants, the most notable being Launceston Place. The Chop House is less of a red letter restaurant than many of their establishments, but it does have the marketable value of being within walking distance of the London Dungeon and Tower Bridge, whilst also being on the Thames's south bank.

Tourists will flock to this kind of place because it purports to be the kind of British, fish'n'chips-style affair that people seem to come to London for. Of course, the speciality here is steak, but the premise and the attraction for the hordes is clear.

It was a slightly surreal experience, being on a table surrounded by Taiwanese insurance workers and their most important clients, but as I've found with almost all Taiwanese people I have met, they were courteous, welcoming and friendly. Generous too: we took home a huge bagful of seasonal Taiwanese goodies. The language barrier did not prove to be much of a hindrance, with the wife translating as ever.

The group was offered a minimal-choice set menu - understandably, given the number of tables the party were occupying - which was a fairly standard set of the restaurant's safer choices. The starter was a reasonable onion soup which was a  little too sweet but was finished fairly easily. Main course was naturally a steak. It came with chips and some sauce (I asked specifically for bearnaise) and the whole thing smacked of averageness. Cheesecake for dessert was forgettable: bland and improperly combined.

I would not recommend Butler's Wharf Chophouse as a place worth trying simply because it really is such a middling restaurant - at best. If you're in the area you could do a lot worse but it's never somewhere you should make an effort to be. The tourist market is certainly the best business-related part of the restaurant, but worryingly it's the only part of this place I can see being of any worth at all.

Butler's Wharf Chophouse

A Birthday Weekend to Remember: 15th-18th September, 2011

You only turn 30 once. The wife's turn was last September, so I took it upon myself to organise a weekend's worth of celebrating, almost all of which was made up of surprises. And of course, almost all of it involved food. The event had a lot to live up to, since her birthday last year included the best meal I'd ever eaten. Whatever the outcome, I did my best.

Thursday September 15th: Marcus Wareing at The Berkeley, Knightsbridge

The wife (or 'the other half' as she was known then) loves to eat at swanky restaurants. You may snort with derision and accuse me of being exactly the same - I'm not denying that I love a high-end slap-up meal - but she really does love to see the stars on the menu and live the high life. As such, it was only fitting that the one remaining two-starred restaurant in London we had not sampled should kick off the long weekend of birthday celebrations.

Marcus Wareing is a revered and respected fixture of London's restaurant scene. He has come a long way from being Gordon Ramsay's patronised sidekick running Pétrus at The Berkeley, and many in the know feel his third Michelin Star was long overdue some time ago. Indeed, the cringe-worthy, sometimes amusing and fleetingly interesting Ramsay documentary Beyond Boiling Point, filmed at the turn of the century, shows Wareing to be a young, ambitious chef. On the occasion of receiving his first star, he instantly professed his desire to go on and win his second. You could tell the boy meant business.

The sad truth of most cookery partnerships in the modern age is that they do not last. Mainly because most modern chefs are highly competitive men. They cannot stand anyone being better than them. As happens with most chef pairs, the two eventually fell out and went their separate ways, leaving a trail of lawyers binding them for longer than they would have liked. Ramsay kept the name and re-opened one street over, Wareing kept the premises and the concession at the prestigious hotel.

The fuel to Wareing's flame for so many years was wanting to be better than his business partner and mentor. Which is, I suppose, what any young student wants. But when the master is one of the most renowned ball-breakers in the business, it isn't so simple. The two do not speak or deal with each other any more. Their time is done, and whilst the teacher maintains a high-level restaurant empire with panache, the student is still plugging away in search of that third Michelin Star. He's also opened The Gilbert Scott, taking the first steps toward forming his own empire.

Marcus Wareing at The Berkeley is one of those places at which you can make your reservation and instantly expect to have an outstanding evening. There should be no extra mile the staff won't go to, no small detail overlooked, no imperfection of taste. Enough has been written expounding the Lancastrian's pedigree and virtue for the last ten years, so there should be plenty of 2 to 3 star sheen on show to rave about.

There are a few issues I have with Wareing at The Berkeley (from now on I'll just call it Wareing), starting with the lighting. It's too large and capacious a room to be so dimly lit. I recall struggling to see parts of the room and having a right old challenge trying to take any photos. The atmosphere is a bit dead too. You don't want a bunch of hoorays leaping off the walls when you're somewhere high-end, but a little buzz would be nice. There is a sort of revered hush which could be construed as misery.

What shouldn't be making people feel miserable is the food. And if the canapés and amouse-bouche are anything to go on, that's a certainty. The first was a delightful medley of heritage tomato and Berkswell cheese atop delicate parmesan shortbread. A cheese overload you might think, but wonderfully offset by the soft, counteractive tomato. Alongside were some meaty rich slivers of pork terrine with plum chutney. Nothing to sniff at, these disappeared in seconds.

Bread and butter were also terrific. It might seem silly focusing on such a minor aspect of the day, but when brown walnut butter is put in front of me and I actually enjoy it I realise I'm actually in quite a special restaurant. Instead of the sickly taste I characterise with most any nut, this was a sweet, mild sensation, a true blip of genius spread on bread. The bread itself was a dazzling array of honey & potato, sourdough, rough French country and rye. All of it enjoyable.

One more before starters, they gave us BLTs: lettuce soup, bacon foam and crushed tomato crisp in a tall shot glass. Ridiculous but fun, the foam in particular was a lovely touch. So far I was entertained and impressed. The dim lighting and subdued atmosphere certainly belied the impressive and creative elements we were sampling.

Starters came and this is where a few of the problems with the place became clear. The menu reads like any classically contemporary restaurant's seems to: a basic list of the main ingredients for each dish. This ploy can go either way. The chef can be applauded for letting the ingredients sell themselves; a clear act of understated knowingness on his part. Equally, it could be labelled pretentious; keeping the customer in the dark about what's coming.

Fortunately we know our stuff and a little mystery was never going to hoodwink us into making an ill-informed decision. Our choices were made with our absolute enjoyment in mind, since this was a very special occasion, after all. She chose lobster. Lobster with egg, cabbage, nori (Japanese seaweed) and vinegar. Whichever way you look at it, ingredients like that are going to be hard to mess up. Despite the dish being served in a slightly haphazard, piled-up manner, the combination was indeed excellent. The cabbage and punchy, salty nori perfectly counterbalanced the sweet lobster meat, which was in turn brought back to earth with the silky egg yolk. I couldn't fault the idea or the execution.

Mine was foie gras. With milk, sweet cicely (a green, leafy herb), raspberry and walnut bread. Usually I'd baulk at the idea of walnut bread but since they'd already won me over with walnut butter, I took the plunge. Now, looking at the parts of this I'd say the dish was made for me and I'd love it without question. Sadly, the event did not live up to its billing, and here is the downfall of just listing ingredients. If you see all components of this dish on a menu, you're expecting a delightful bouquet of tastes and smells, stunning varieties of texture and a show on a plate. It turned out to be a misappropriation of almost every part of the dish. The foie gras was mousse, the milk was foam. The raspberries were halved and the cicely sat on top. The bread was wafer thin. It did not work. The tastes were decent but no more, the textures a literal flop, with no bite or substance in anything.

Main courses ought to have lifted things, being venison and beef as they were. The venison in particular looked eye-catching. Served with hispi (summer cabbage), baby turnip, black fig, chocolate and sherry vinegar, this was surely going to knock our socks off (left). Well, yes and no. Yes because the venison was the most perfectly-cooked piece of deer I could remember eating. It was utterly sublime: soft, juicy, pink-red and rich. No because the sides - the chocolate in particular - just couldn't sit with it. Meat this good wants impeccable support, and even though this stuff was good, it wasn't quite there. The chocolate was not bitter enough, which made the whole thing slightly too sweet. The rest was fresh, acceptably solid and pretty, but just not as glorious as the meat. It was good in places, misjudged in others and agonisingly, marginally short of the mark overall.

The other main course was so to the wife's taste I needn't have even bothered asking her what she wanted: Galloway beef, truffle, leeks, radish, parmesan. You're talking classics now (plus a £10 supplement). This is absolutely what we want to see on our top-end menus: amazing combinations with the promise of outstanding delivery. The beef was almost as good as the venison had been. I've eaten better beef, but not many times. This was another pretty special dish, with the truffle grated on at the table. The combination was right on. The truffle added some earthiness to the soft meat and sharper leeks and seasoning, leaving the whole thing a rather delightful plate. It did, however, look like a five-year-old had assembled it. A mess of sauces, dressings and scraps, it was bloody lucky it tasted as good as it did, because it was an eyesore when put before us.

Pre-dessert was just a hoot: Wareing's take on a pina colada. A small plate of coconut mousse, coconut ash, pineapple cream and rum jelly. Given that I don't drink and I detest coconut, it wasn't really for me. More to the point, I don't think ash has a place on any dessert. It was not a fantastic accompaniment, the charred black flakes adding only colour variations to the plate.

When we came to choose desserts, the one that jumped right out at us was the chocolate moelleux, or melting cake, with orange. It turned out to be a tasting of orange in the form of cream, crisp and jellies (right). Again, it looked like a right state but tasted pretty good. I had read previously that one incarnation of this dish (with salted caramel) was London's most popular dessert. This certainly can't be the case any more, because despite a rather succulent and satisfying moelleux, the orange kicked most of the taste to the kerb. Not bad by any means, but not three-, or truly even two-star standard.

My choice was a little riskier in the form of iced lime mousse, served with soft meringue and sweet & sour pineapple. It was far more original and well-balanced than the chocolate but it too suffered from a slight mismatch on the plate. The meringue certainly added a visual edge but the taste contribution was negligible. The mousse itself was lovely and surprisingly not too cold, but the pineapple didn't sit right with it. Liquorice on the side was more of an inconvenience than anything else. It was a pretty good symbol of entire the meal in all honesty: almost there, but something's been lost in the mix.

We wrapped things up with some in-house chocolates, which the wife in particular enjoyed. The banoffee were the highlight. As we finished our chocolates and I paid the bill, I looked at what I'd paid (not the moon but certainly a fair whack) and what we'd eaten and asked myself what I really had thought of the night. It was lovely, there's no doubt about it. Great service and a special occasion lent a lovely sentimentality to the night. The wife (or, as she was about to be known, the fiancée) had a great time and that clearly was the most important thing.

But what of Wareing? How does it stack up? For starters, I must say I'm siding with Ramsay when it comes to comparisons. Restaurant Gordon Ramsay was in almost every way a better meal. The problem with Wareing is that it has become a feverish mission of attaining a third Michelin Star which, frankly, I cannot see coming. The menu has been fiddled with to the point of over-complication, which left me mildly frustrated. I'm not for one second saying the food was bad, but it wasn't as good as I'd hoped for.

There are good things to be said for Marcus Wareing at The Berkeley, but there are a handful of diminishing features which made this less of the perfect birthday meal (which, kudos to Ramsay Holdings, was one year earlier) than I had anticipated. My advice to Marcus would be to simplify things. Make it great in a classic way before you go for broke on mad combinations and hints of pretence. Just turn up the lights and re-think the ingredients.

Marcus Wareing at The Berkeley

Friday September 16th: Old Tree Bakery, Golders Green

It appears the wife's annual birthday tradition has become a trip to buy lots of meat at Smithfield Market. It's a fantastic experience, a great trip and one that I can't recommend highly enough if you've got a 4am slot spare in your diary. We traipsed up and down the magnificent market hall with a little wheelie trolley and packed it with meat, eggs and other delights.

We then took in a little breakfast down by the Thames as the sun came up and I proposed to her. It was a lovely moment, characterising us perfectly: a proposal next to a big stack o' meat. Well, we were happy anyway.

Back home, we packed away the meat and I put her to bed for the day whilst I prepared the flat for her surprise party that evening. Baking a cake, sweeping and mopping floors, general tidying; I was on quite impressive form for a man who had not had a great deal of sleep.

Some time later, with me flagging considerably, I surprised her with a trip to Old Tree Bakery, a venue in north London which I had on good authority to be the best Taiwanese food one can find in these parts. It is a small café which focuses on traditional elements of Taiwan's cuisine.

We sampled a small variety of dishes as a late lunch which made for some interesting eating. Pork belly stewed with egg was a mixture of the sublime and the ridiculous (left). Slow-cooked pork belly is amazing, and something I've found to be entirely Asian. Nobody here seems to have cottoned on to how fantastically silky this stuff can be when stewed. However, a hard-boiled egg (still in the shell) cooked in the sauce is not quite as good. Discoloured by the brown soy sauce, it was overly salty-sour.

We ate some beef ribs which were another picture of smooth meatiness. The meat was spare, as it tends to be on ribs, but worth the effort. Chunkier than your average spare pork rib, these had a nice gelatinous quality to them, making the intense flavour stand out even more. Good stuff indeed.

One of the dishes that did not sit at all well with me was the chicken, served with black sesame oil, chilli, garlic and mint. Just reading that back sounds like a bad idea and it certainly was. The over-strong flavours of the seasoning completely overwhelmed the chicken... And mint?! Not something I expect to see paired with chicken on any continent.

Taiwanese sausage was a pleasant surprise (right). Somewhere between chorizo and a good old-fashioned English banger, these sliced morsels were lovely. We even took some home and re-fried them with garlic which was even more impressive. I did not know any Asian country could do sausages particularly well before this, but I'm pretty convinced by Taiwan now.

The dessert snacks we tried - an egg tart and a custard cream bun - were not overly impressive. Neither had the sort of milky creaminess that one expects from classic cute Asian puddings. The bun in particular was a little dry and the egg tart no more than run of the mill.

I'm happy we went to Old Tree Bakery, particularly on such a significant day. The wife's verdict was that it was "normal" for Taiwan. And that, I think, is the point. It isn't all that amazing or outstanding if you're from Taiwan. But if you're not, it is a bit different from a lot of other stuff you can get in London. And even if you're from Taiwan, "normal" may be the best you're likely to get in London.

After a hearty tea, we went back to the flat where a cavalcade of friends were waiting to surprise the wife. It was a lovely evening and a wonderful end to a special day. The chocolate cake went down a storm and I was finally able to sleep at the end of a very, very long day.

Old Tree Bakery

Saturday September 17th: Park Room & Library, Mayfair

Yet more surprises were in store on the Saturday, which was the wife's actual birthday. In planning the weekend, I was trying to fit in as many distinct food experiences as I could to avoid anything getting boring. Afternoon tea is always a classic, the wife having chosen such herself for my birthday back in July.

It was going to be hard (and ultimately pretty futile) for me to try and top The Dorchester, but I figured the place that had won the Tea Guild's Award of Excellence for 2011 might help. The Park Room & Library is the rather confusingly-named tea and breakfast room for the Grosvenor House Hotel on Park Lane. It is, as all Park Lane salons are, equipped with a lovely view of the lane and Hyde Park. It is spacious, very green and plush. It is, every inch, the sort of place one might expect to have a corking afternoon tea.

It was, as I hinted above, not quite The Dorchester. But it was pretty good all the same. The spacious and relaxed environment made for a wonderfully serene meal. Each course came with a minimum of fuss and we both kicked back and enjoyed ourselves.

Sandwiches were a rather disappointing affair (left). Nothing really standing out from the standards which were trotted out. Cold beef, smoked salmon, egg, chicken... It was all acceptable fare but not much better. We also sadly observed that the bread was a little on the dry side. Not stale but still not too pleasant.

We eschewed any more in the hope that pastries and scones would be better. Fortunately the occasion picked up smartly as the stack of sweets was brought to the table. The cakes were generally rather fabulous, with a rose theme running through the menu for the day (right). The rose éclair, panna cotta, sponge cake and macaroon were all lovely. A little on the rich and slightly flowery side (naturally), they all worked fairly well.

We opted for some seconds here, which led to the non-rose desserts being presented to us. The normal chocolate éclair was as good without the flowers, as was the panna cotta. The Victoria sponge we were given was also a winner, neatly served as a small circular cake on the side of the plate. The strawberry tart that was present on both occasions was enjoyable enough, while the slice of chocolate cake wasn't.

Scones were nice enough, but merely felt functional in the circumstances. It was all a bit clinical and underwhelming at the end of it. The main draw of this place is the room itself which, despite being a bit office conference-y (it is a Marriott hotel after all), is absolutely pleasant. The food and to a lesser extent the service needs a tune-up though. I'm not sure how this place won the prestigious tea award on the showing of this Saturday afternoon.

It's a decent place with a semi-decent tea, which is not altogether worth the £35 per person they are charging. I wouldn't say don't go there, but I would recommend getting a reservation in early and going down the road to The Dorchester, where they're carrying off this sort of thing with way more style.

Park Room & Library

Sunday September 18th: St John Hotel, Chinatown

One last surprise followed our late afternoon tea. We took a walk through the Soho streets, as ever marvelling at how exuberant and absorbing the backstreets of W1 can be. Our journey took us to the final destination of the weekend: the St John Hotel, somewhere we'd been talking about going for months. I figured this was just about the only occasion we'd be able to justify the £250 for a one night stay in some time.

I should add that £30 of the fee contributed to our having breakfast in the restaurant the next morning, which is no bad thing. I'd been perusing the restaurant menus for some time leading up to this visit and I was always struck by two things: the menus looked lovely but they were damned pricey.

The hotel itself is a quirky work of art, much like the entire St John franchise. The whitewashed, wood-panelled rooms have a delightfully nautical feel to them. The green rubber flooring, which I initially raised an eyebrow at, actually works wonderfully well, giving a comforting and satisfying depth to each room. I'm not in the business of recommending hotels, but if you have the spare change, a night here is a real treat.

Breakfast on the Sunday morning had been decided by observing the menu on Saturday night. The fact that they had a pigs' cheek omelette and girolle mushrooms on toast was good enough for us. Sadly, when we got to our table we found out that both had been removed from the menu. The wife being as determined and inquisitive as she always is managed to wrangle them both for us. I was very pleased.

We started with yoghurt & fruit and a fruit bun. The yoghurt was sour, with even sourer cherries within. It was a serious waste of £5 and no mistake. The fruit bun was better, a sugar-glazed, Danish-type affair. It made you feel both comfortable and guilty, which I suppose is what any decent breakfast pastry should do.

Main courses were something else entirely. In my sleepy stupor, I ordered a boiled egg on the side of my girolles on toast, when I meant to ask for a poached egg (left). I would hazard a guess that the poached would've been better, but the boiled wasn't too shabby. It was a classic St John dish in the event: exceptionally simple yet well put together. The mushrooms were cooked to a slight bite of perfection, served on thick grilled toast. The seasoning was spot on and both of us loved it.

Even better was a pigs' cheek, Berkswell cheese and pea omelette (right). The salty, succulent meat was flaked over the top, with the peas inside the eggs and the cheese graciously sprinkled over the lot. It was a perfectly conceived breakfast dish that was enjoyed wholeheartedly. Paying a little extra (it cost £8.50) for this was in no way an extravagance. Delicious stuff.

Breakfast at the St John Hotel is a treat which I believe will be better within the next year when the place really finds its feet. (The maître d' admitted as much to me when we were ordering.) It's rather a special feeling eating a swanky breakfast in your pyjamas whilst pedestrians wander to and from Leicester Square a few yards away.

As much as I enjoyed the food here, it is a touch overpriced and I would say the more worthwhile treat is a night's stay in the hotel. Amazing rooms, atmosphere and mini-bars, this is certainly the real deal when it comes to smart London hotels. Just don't bother with the bar; we wandered in there on the Saturday night and it's more like a youth hostel than a west end hotel bar.

St John Hotel

You only turn 30 once. I think a breakfast, a lunch, a tea-time and a dinner is a good way to celebrate. Plus a surprise party and an engagement. It was a great weekend and, as usual, most of it was to do with food. I have promised the wife, in the interests of my bank balance, that she can have a birthday like this once every ten years. It might be a tough act to follow but I have the best part of a decade to think up the next one.