Kitchen W8: Kensington, Saturday March 3rd, 2012

This was an entirely frivolous outing. Not concerned with any special occasion or carefully-organised discount meal, the wife and I decided we wanted to have a nice dinner and so we chose a restaurant not far from home which we had wanted to try for some time. Kitchen W8 is the venture between Phil Howard of The Square and Rebecca Mascarenhas, veteran of neighbourhood restaurant success with Sonny's in Barnes.

The concept behind Kitchen W8 is an admirable one: to create a venue which is a step down from the sort of upper-class fare on display at The Square but maintain a comfortably high level of cuisine. The partnership has certainly been set up with big things in mind. Howard, with his considerable stake in The Square and a lesser share in The Ledbury, is certainly a man with massive London pedigree (another who trained under Marco Pierre White back in the day). Mascarenhas is not from the higher echelons of the London food world but clearly knows a thing or two about decent, mid-price cuisine. She has a stake in Sam's Brasserie in Chiswick, plus a couple of other suburban places about town. It's a pairing that should equal big success.

From the outset, there is little to dislike about a restaurant with such an impressively simple ambition. I had certainly wandered past on several occasions, wishing for a chance to go there. With no good reason for doing so outside curiosity and greed, we booked and prepared ourselves for an evening for which we held high hopes.

The décor of the restaurant is a symbol for the halfway house that it is. There is a lot to be said for affordable, good quality food but when you open a restaurant in Kensington with Phil Howard as part of it, there is something that is lost in translation. Nowhere is this more immediately apparent than in the simple, hotel-style beige of the place, dotted with paintings for sale at eyebrow-raising prices.

I'm not saying the place is badly decorated but it does not have the simple, welcoming air of a neighbourhood kitchen where a reasonably-priced meal is the order of the day. Similarly, the menu is not especially universal either. It is not cheap to eat a la carte here. But then, what should one expect from a restaurant just off High Street Kensington? We knew the price situation before we decided to visit and it was a hit we were prepared to take. So, with all our cards on the table and all the restaurant's on the wall, it was time to see what all the Michelin-starred local down-to-earth appeal was all about.

Some delicious crusty bread and salted butter got things started before an indulgent pre-starter of salted cod beignets (left). These were light but flavoursome, deep-fried breadcrumbed morsels which hit the spot instantly. If you're going to serve something as formal as pre-starters in an apparently informal setting, these are the sort of pre-starters you want to be serving. Never dry, nor too heavy either, these were precisely what you'd order to get yourself in gear for a meal.

The menu itself read like a dream. The wife and I were promptly quibbling about who should order what and if an extra course or two might be appropriate. Of course, extra dishes would have been sheer greed (and yet more money) so I'm happy I talked the wife out of it, but what we did order filled us up with ease.

My starter was a raviolo of Oxtail with onions, mushrooms, bone marrow and vegetables (right). It was a picture to look at, the Oxtail parcel flanked by a twirling skirt of pasta, around which sat the mushrooms and a rich jus. The marrow perched proudly on top whilst the sweet, caramelised onions resided beneath. It was quite frankly heaven on a plate. The beef was cooked perfectly, retaining an enjoyable density which contrasted with the silky pasta and sweet, soft onion. Frankly, this is one of the best starters in recent memory. Simplicity in terms of the combination, elevated to the level of near-perfection with a few smart touches.

The wife was instantly drawn to the word "truffle" on the menu, as often happens. Her choice of crispy hen's egg with Jerusalem artichoke purée, pancetta, potatoes and truffle was predictable yet excellent (left). It was a simply-presented delight, with the perfectly-cooked egg halved and sitting proudly on top of the piece. The purée lent a smooth coating to the breadcrumbed egg but the little accompaniments were the show-stealers. Crisped pink fir apple potato halves with crunchy pancetta, between which sat the slivers of Perigord black truffle: stunning. Dishes like this deserve to be on menus everywhere and damn the expense.

Starters having blown our socks clean off, I was hoping for main courses to continue things in a similar vein. One dish I was intent on ordering with no second thoughts was some pot roast poussin. The small fillets of bird came with a pie made of the leg meat, crushed artichokes and creamed & truffled potatoes (right). It was every bit as divine as it sounds. Soft, succulent cuts of intensely flavoursome meat (which is why restaurants bother with poussin over chicken - that and the higher price) were centred around a stunning, buttery and flaky pastry pie. The hint of gaminess in the bird was accentuated here with a rich white sauce, yet the whole thing was tied together in the small details as with all great dishes. Artichokes for colour and texture, truffled mash for a rich finish. Why can't more main courses be like this?

The wife went for a special dish of the day: Pata Negra pork. We didn't know what the significance of the name was but the waiter assured us it was just about the best pork to be found anywhere. That was enough of an endorsement for us and it turns out that it roughly translates as "black hoof", or another name for Iberian ham. The pork came sliced, served with bacon gnocchi, fried onions and some purée that was hard to pick out but for texture alone was worth the inclusion (left). Outrageously moist, succulent pork was clearly the highlight here and the waiter's testimony was pretty accurate.

My mind was already blown by the time it came to dessert choices. The four dishes we'd sampled so far were as good as anything I could remember eating for quite some time. It was practically up there with Pollen Street Social for sheer quality. Our pudding selections were fruity rather than heavy, my choice being the rhubarb. It came poached, with rhubarb jelly, almond biscuits and vanilla ice cream (right).

It was worth going for, with the vibrant and fresh rhubarb cooked seconds on the right side of firm, whilst the jelly brought out the sweetness of the plant. The ice cream was a necessary difference of texture and temperature and the biscuits effectively filled in the role of crumble. Lovely, but not as amazing as the preceding courses had been. The wife went for a passion fruit posset, which sounded divine. It came with lime ice cream, orange, kiwi & thyme jelly (left). The combinations were startling, strong and well-balanced. The dish was a clever blend of bold flavours, tempered by the thyme jelly and the passion fruit in the posset - a much more sensible choice than the more common lemon.

After three courses at Kitchen W8, I was almost annoyed at how hard everywhere else was going to have to work to match this. Every dish we had eaten had ticked most, if not all, boxes and the exceptional meal we were hoping for had been delivered with style. The sticking point I had was with the price: it was about £100 for the two of us. Now, for a Michelin-starred Saturday night out in Kensington that's about right, but I would expect it to be less for a place which brands itself as a neighbourhood haunt.

Maybe I'm being stingy though. It's hard for a restaurant to deliver as fully as this without having to pay a bit of a premium. Rather than an 'every month' kind of place, I'll leave Kitchen W8 in my 'special occasion' list. It has all the right attributes to be a continued success and, as long as you've got the spare funds, I cannot recommend a visit highly enough.

Kitchen W8

Athenaeum Re-visited: Mayfair, Monday February 20th, 2012

There's nothing quite like justifying spending money you shouldn't really be spending. The excuses we use to justify the outgoings can get so ridiculous: "I didn't have three courses last week so I can have dessert now", "The saving means the cost is worth it", "This week is the anniversary of when we first went to the cinema together". Whatever spin we try to put on it, the ends are rarely justified and we end up spending money we shouldn't have for no good reason at all.

In a classic episode of unaffordable spending, the wife and I chalked this one up to a half-price deal and a friend leaving the country. Putting two together like that was just about enough reason to go for it, so we went back to a restaurant that had surprised us some years ago.

A table for five was booked and we perused a fairly extensive menu, happy in the knowledge that we'd get half off at the end of it all. Three of the table started with scallops served with crispy pancetta and regretted it pretty quickly. It was a badly executed dish in all sorts of ways, the worst being that the whole lot was dry. The scallops didn't taste at all fresh and none of the ingredients combined with any sort of coherence.

The wife went for a duck egg served with cured ham and a sauce of celeriac & apple. It was a well thought-out dish but one that wasn't presented with panache. It was the sort of springy starter you'd love to eat as the weather warms but in this case it was a fairly iffy plate of food that occasionally hit the spot.

My starter was a smoked haddock and chervil soufflé with chive & saffron cream. It was by far the best starter on the table and one that instantly caused much jealousy amongst the others. A fine, light but punchy soufflé combined the salty haddock with the more delicate hint of the herbs. The cream sat thickly coating the coarser flavours from the fish which made for a beautiful starter.

Steak & chips was a classic from our first visit and two of the party went for it here. Again it proved to be a relative success: triple-cooked chips which were rather fine with some properly-cooked steak. Not the kind of dish you'd want to pay the normal asking price of £37 for by any means, but for £18.50 it was about right. We decorated the table with various sides also, the pick of which were some simple field mushrooms.

The fish dish sampled with the main courses was some pan-fried halibut. It was a plate of food which confused on first inspection because it was unfortunately overfull and a bit sloppy. A good piece of fish should need little in the way of support if it has been cooked to a succulent turn but this came with a terrine of cod & potato, carrots, cabbage and spinach foam. All of which added up to an unsurprisingly addled, dry and overcooked main event. The terrine was the highlight but that's not good enough when the central part of the dish is under-delivering.

Continuing the theme of under-deliverance, the wife chose our main course as the pot-roast black-leg chicken for two. It might sound a slightly strange choice but when I read that it came studded with truffle, I could see where her mind had been unshakeably made up. It wasn't a bad choice, reading the accompaniments: roasted root vegetables, bread pudding, truffle jus and dauphinoise potatoes. One thing was for sure: we weren't going to be hungry at the end of it.

Sadly, the whole thing was a botched effort in that it was more or less a standard roast bird which they'd tried to dress up. There was no taste of truffle anywhere in the chicken or the gravy. A huge disappointment for sure. Sadly, the dauphinoise potatoes were as bad, given that they were practically uncooked. A real shame since the sauce was lovely. The whole thing was a stodgy, misjudged, poorly-developed dish.

The wife and I risked desserts in the hope that we'd salvage a halfway decent meal out of this. It was, predictably, a mistake and we were left ruing our decision. The white chocolate cheesecake the wife ordered was a predictably haphazard rendition of a startlingly standard pudding, where my "lemon plate", a mixture of tart, panna cotta and sorbet was a dull trot-out of yet more uninteresting dishes.

So clearly Athenaeum has let its standards slip since our first visit. Or perhaps it was never that good in the first place. Either way, we did not enjoy ourselves as much the second time around. The fact that they seem to have a never-ending 50% off deal on Toptable is testament to the fact that this place is just spinning its wheels. There are some good things about this place, but as far as generic hotel eating goes, it's more or less what you expect for a place that's merely knocking on the door of exclusivity and prestige.

Athenaeum

Bistrot Bruno Loubet & Spuntino: Clerkenwell & Soho, Saturday February 11th, 2012

MasterChef remains just about my favourite show when it's on. (Narrowly ahead of The Apprentice if you're interested.) Aside from the forced drama, the boisterous shouting and the increasingly over-wrought personal stories, the evolution of the contestants and the cooking skill on show remain wonderful entertainment. The most recent series was great fun, containing a bit of everything: great cooking, terrible dishes, excellent professional guests, worthy finalists and a deserved winner. What more could one want?

One of my favourite features was a day out learning to cook popular European cuisine at a prominent restaurant: French, Italian or Spanish. All three looked massively appealing and this was one of the more attractive challenges in the series: learning how to cook great quality European food at the hands of a top chef is something anyone with a fleeting interest in food would envy.

The French element of the show was where I was most intrigued. (Give over John Torode: "I admire French food but I think it's very rich...") The restaurant was Bistrot Bruno Loubet and the chef was the man himself. He showed the contestants how to make his boeuf bourguignon which interested me greatly. What I find fascinating about watching chefs describe their dishes is the amount of control and calmness with which the best ones do it. Bruno was replete with a well-worn assuredness as he showcased his skills and style.

Bistrot has been just about the most evenly-enjoyed new restaurant in London since it opened a couple of years ago. At first I was somewhat bemused: 'who is this Loubet?' I asked myself. I was most out of touch with the culinary pulse of the city because this guy has serious London pedigree. Having worked with Pierre Koffman and been head chef of Raymond Blanc's Manoir Au Quat Saisons, he has had just about the best experience of working under the great UK-based French chefs as anyone.

Bistrot was the first time he'd put his name on a London restaurant in a long time. It was the first time he'd struck out on his own in the UK for almost ten years. The decision to return and try again after an abrupt departure to Australia was a big one, so the fact that the place was adored by all was most probably a big relief. In the week that we watched Bruno prepare some stewed beef for three contestants on MasterChef, we spent Saturday lunch there. And guess what I was after?

The restaurant itself is part of the uber-trendy Zetter Townhouse, a hotel which oozes modern chic like nowhere else I can think of in London. It's close to the east end but not so deep in to be kitsch, it's easy to get to but not by tube, it's light and airy but sniffily exclusive in terms of price. Perfect, essentially.

The restaurant doesn't really have the same scruffy rich elegance as the building does. It's not particularly cool-looking or well designed. It suffers from the god-awful cliché of filling empty spaces with random objects and ugly furniture. The bar is long, curved and a scene-dominating eyesore. The kitchen is exposed but only through a big window, so it looks like the pass has been made too big by accident rather than design. It's a pretty horribly thought-out space.

All that said: to food. We were hungry, chilled to the bone and eager to have a great meal to match all the good press I'd seen about the place. Our starters set the tone in the best way: beetroot ravioli and snails. What is great about Bistrot is its embracing of French food as nourishing and fulfilling plates. They don't mess about here and the starters were a perfect fit. The ravioli was a stunning mixture of firm pasta, delicate filling and bullish rocket salad (left). It was a great combination of ingredients that would trick you into feeling healthy, but the small touches such as fried breadcrumbs and parmesan put paid to any chance of that.

The wife's snail dish was something of a masterpiece (right). The combination of snails and meatballs was a strange-sounding one but when they were put together on the plate, served with a sumptuous mousse of mushrooms in the middle, it made perfect sense. The whole thing was tied together with a tomato sauce which on the surface looked like too many big flavours to work on the same plate, but the balance in the dish was exquisite.

When I'd looked at the main courses, I was disappointed to see no bourguignon. Happily, this was a special they were offering. It made sense, since I'm sure many others like me had arrived looking for 'that MasterChef dish' in the same week. It was served at the table in a metal oven dish on the side of a plate of mashed potato (left).

The result was as good as I had hoped for. A perfectly succulent daube of beef, meltingly soft and rich as you like, was surrounded with a luxurious braising stock. Mushrooms, carrots, lardons, onions; all the little ingredients that make French food special when they're done perfectly. This was indeed just about perfect. The sauce was so exquisite I had to tip the remaining drips from the dish.

The wife's main course was another exercise in simply executed, well thought-out combinations. Grilled quail  with lemon, thyme, rocket and mushrooms is a delightful mix of flavours, which means the kitchen is duty-bound to deliver them properly (right). This was another winning plate of food in that each mouthful was perfectly balanced. The salty game bird was complimented by the peppery rocket and the soft, sweeter mushrooms which made for another brilliantly unpretentious and lovably humble dish.

We went for another special when it came to dessert. What was pitched to the wife as some sweet French toast turned out to be a pain perdu with sliced pear and ice cream (left).The bread had been cut in the shape of a pear and the whole thing tasted as imaginative as it looked. The wife adored it and was seriously impressed that anything with a hint of cinnamon could be so good. It's a spice she usually cannot stand but this was testament to the inch-perfect balance of sweet and not-so-sweet on the plate. The toast was slightly crisp which sat beautifully with the soft pear and chill of the ice cream.

I chose the bitter chocolate délice, which essentially means 'delight', the same sort of way that parfait means 'perfect'. When choosing a pudding like this, all you need is the confidence that the restaurant will execute it properly. I was pretty high on confidence at this point, so the délice was most certainly a winning prospect. It turned out to be excellent too: like a thick mousse topped with a rich and strong sheet of chocolate (right). The final touch was a splurge of coffee sabayon. The rich dessert cream was a softer compliment to the chocolate which made for a bitter-sweet dessert that I greatly enjoyed.

Bistrot Bruno Loubet was a lovely lunch out and it has a perfect menu for a special occasion. It is in no way pretentious or showy but it delivers in such a satisfying, fulfilling French way that it's hard not to be drawn to it. We did spend around £80 but that included two specials and there's no obligation to order three a la carte courses at lunch as we did.

We wandered around the east-central areas of London, taking in the beautifully eerie sights of a deserted Smithfield Market and the hulking Barbican. The weather was searingly cold so we decided to go somewhere warm to complete our day. That turned out to be Spuntino, the trendiest jewel in Russell Norman's crown.

I had read a few promising things about this place so I thought I would surprise the wife by taking her there as part of a day of food visits. (It was more or less my Valentines Day gift to her a little early.) It is basically the next step in Norman's bid to informalise Soho eating to the point of ridiculous hipster-minimalism. Taking things one step further from the Italian places he owns (both Polpo and da Polpo have my stamp of approval), Spuntino is essentially the kind of place Norman would have wanted to own if he was living in 19th century Brooklyn.

It is a bar which serves food, going for light bites and snacks whilst customers sit at the counter, struggling to see anything in a carefully crafted boozy haze. It's a remarkable place in that it does make you feel like you're in some sleazy side street bar in New York, albeit with the colours of Soho passing by the window. The surly charm of the place won me over pretty quickly since they were playing The White Stripes' cover of St James' Infirmary Blues as we arrived.

After a few minutes' wait, we shuffled along the back wall to two bar-side stools, in front of which were empty enamel plates and menus. As with the other places in the Norman canon, it is a simply-put list of fun foods, laid out in an easy to read way with maximum potential to over-order. It's a very clever formula, littering the menu with morsels that look so inviting and easy that punters will be spending £30 a head before they know it.

We went for a small selection of dishes, still feeling rather full from lunch. The first was something I'd read about and was champing at the bit to taste: truffled egg toast (left). This had been whispered about in all corners of London as something worth trying and it looked like a real picture when it was presented to us. Deep yellow yolk speckled with truffle on top of melted cheese, sunken into a well in the centre of a thick slice of white bread toast. Heaven on a plate, surely? Sadly not quite. The cheese was too thick, the toast slightly burnt and the truffle too fleeting.

The menu also featured one of those oh-so-American titbits one sees on trendy menus and Hell's Kitchen re-vamps: sliders. The little burger snacks that - if done well - can make you wish all burgers were such tasty morsels, but when done badly can make you wish for finger sandwiches. We picked the beef & bone marrow mini-burger and were unfortunately regretting it after a bite (right). The texture was too stodgy and it was impossible to pick out the bone marrow from the too-thick bun.

Our last choice was a bowl of macaroni cheese which cost £9 (left). It was a little pricey but was also the best thing we ate at Spuntino. The small pan was brimful of beautifully gratinated pasta swirls with an outrageously rich sauce. It was too much for us at this stage of the day after our big lunch but it was damned tasty. I'm not entirely sure it was worth £9 but it was a cosy dish of pasta which encapsulated Spuntino's appeal quite well.

I don't know if I'd go back to Spuntino any time soon. It's certainly a very cool place but the prices are at a point where you need to know exactly what you're ordering to make it a worthwhile outing. Playing roulette with the menu here might end up costing you way more than you intended and give you a meal you weren't too happy with. As a novelty though, it's right up there with just about any eating experience in Soho. Just make sure you can get in.

It was an indulgent, expensive and freezing cold Saturday but it was a lovely day out. Bistrot Bruno Loubet unsurprisingly took the plaudits and it was there that I am happiest to have gone. After a few years of hearing about how terrific the place is, I'll say it was worth the wait.

Bistrot Bruno Loubet

Spuntino

Hereford Road: Bayswater, Saturday 4th February, 2012

Fergus Henderson is a man whom I have lauded many times in my short tenure as a critic. His simplistic approach to British food and the translation of tradition into modern mainstream is peerless. It's a wonder more restaurants aren't doing things in the same way: get good quality local produce, dress it up in the simplest way possible and sell it at fair prices.

Maybe it isn't a wonder, because it relies on two things: faith in your customer base and absolute conviction in your own ability to execute dishes where there is no margin for error. Whilst there are few finer things in life than excellent British cooking, there are few worse than lousy food that makes one ashamed of one's culinary heritage. And as for the first point: regrettably there's no-one like the English when it comes to fussy eating.

Hereford Road is one of those places one would expect to see popping up all over the place given the trend in recent years to celebrate what's on our doorstep. Unsurprisingly, the man behind it is Tom Pemberton, once head chef of St John Bread & Wine. That was enough of an endorsement for me, so I booked a group meal there as a last-night hurrah to conclude the visit of one of my best friends, who had spent a week with us whilst visiting from overseas.

Six of us took to the Bayswater streets after watching a nailbiting start to the 2012 Six Nations and the winter snowfall having just about hit. We slipped and struggled through the exquisite Notting Hill residential streets with the snow coming down harder and practically fell inside the restaurant, so keen were we to be somewhere warm and comforting.

The place was once a Victorian butchers shop - not that surprising considering Pemberton's early career - and it has a slightly retro-fitted charm to it. The colours and interior design are rather seventies-themed in their panels of simple colour and the furniture feels like it was ordered a season or so late. I quite liked it in a way, even though it felt like the meal was an exhibition as much as dinner with friends.

The menu reads like something that you'd see at St John Bread & Wine which I suppose it should. The descriptions are simple and unassuming, allowing the main ingredients to stand out. The best thing about reading a menu like this is it never looks overfull. With nine main courses and eight starters on the menu, the page of A4 in front of us was a long list of dishes that didn't daunt in any way. It looks and feels right when food is put so matter-of-factly on a menu.

Starters were something of a mixed bag, at the better side of which was kale & potato soup (left). Thick, almost broth-like soup was perfectly formed, with the kale a delightful note of semi-sourness. The texture was perfect and for £5.20 it was the cheapest dish on the menu. Here's to cheap starters I say. This was delicious soup.

The wife went for potted crab with toast (right). This was primarily quite good in terms of the freshness and taste of the crab meat, but disappointingly let down by bits of shell in the mix. My brother went for braised cuttlefish served with red onion and aioli. A strange choice in that he doesn't like much seafood at all. There was sadly no revelation or epiphany when it came to the taste of the dish. I have to say it was a rather different take on a seafood salad to start but it was too dependent on the garlic mayonnaise to be a winner.

The two remaining starters featured no meat; both were centred around cheese. One was a rather fruitier mix of pear, chicory and Cashel Blue. It was not a cheese I'd heard of before, but investigation revealed it to be a rather unique and relatively recently developed Irish cheese. It wasn't too strong, and the combination of pear and chicory had hints of expertise within, just not quite enough to win me over. This was a big contrast to the goats curd, sorrel and beetroot we also sampled. The notes of bold beetroot were tempered exceptionally by the mild green leaves of sorrel and the smooth curds. It was a wonderfully executed dish, one that quite proudly emphasised all the good things about modern British food.

Main courses promised a hell of a lot. Everything we ordered sounded delicious and with the form of some of the starters, I expected us all to be happy with our lot. Let's start with those who weren't. Two at the table ordered braised veal breast with fennel & green sauce. An interesting description which I think was the main factor in ordering the dish.

In the event, the combination was a strange but fleetingly impressive one (left). I'd never eaten veal breast and I can understand why it is not the most popular cut of the meat. It's quite chunky, but at times stringy and tough to get through. It might be nice if sliced but as a piece of meat it is too much. The fennel was stewed and the whole lot was served with a thin broth which I assume it had been cooked in. There were hints of a fine combination with the parsley-riddled green sauce but overall it didn't work.

I went for a faggot of Middelwhite pork with mashed potato and its humble glory was as rewarding as my first course had been. A delicious and tender-moist meatball with some divinely creamy mash was a wonderful and basic combination made to be brilliant by the quality of ingredients (right). Similarly, the Middlewhite shoulder with red cabbage was another dish which showed off the quality of the meat with one well-executed accompaniment.

The wife's pheasant with lentils and wild mushrooms was rich and gamy but suffered from the lentils overwhelming the bird slightly (left). They along with the sauce went unfinished, but the meat was devoured with relish. The final main course was a saddle of lamb with anchovy & celeriac. The combination sounded fantastic and Mike, who had braved no meat with his starter, went for this one in a shot. It was a delicious piece of meat but the anchovy was somehow lost in the mix with the celeriac supporting well. It was decent but we expected more.

Desserts were all priced at £5.50 which seemed very reasonable. Three went for a melting chocolate pudding with vanilla ice cream which was as stickily delicious as we expected it to be (right). Perhaps not as fine as a chocolate fondant, this was a more honest, thickly spongy pudding deserving of a place on any English menu. The sticky date pudding (AKA sticky toffee pudding anywhere else) was a delicious reminder of how wonderful English desserts can be too: a syrupy, sweet and not-too-thick sponge ticked all the boxes.

My effort was a classic apple crumble with vanilla ice cream (left). It was on the menu as being served with cinnamon ice cream and when I asked to change it, the waitress said it might not be possible since they weren't serving vanilla. We wondered how that was possible since vanilla was coming with the chocolate, but happily the kitchen weren't as confused as our server. It was pretty nice: not too sweet and a properly soft texture. There wasn't a lot else to say since it was not fantastic and they did their best to ruin it with a flaking of nuts on top of the crumble.

Lastly, there was a gorgeous surprise in store with a rice pudding, served with cranberry jam. This was a new one on me, partly because I don't especially enjoy rice pudding and I'd never heard of cranberry used as a jam to sweeten a dessert. It worked fantastically well in that the pudding itself was slightly sweetened and creamy, with the jam cutting through it with a pleasant note of acidity. I was shocked at how good it tasted.

As we left the restaurant, we found we'd eaten through a full-blown snowstorm from the looks of things. There was a good inch of snow all over the streets, giving the meal we'd just eaten a romantic wintry glow. It is with a great fondness that I look back on the meal at Hereford Road because it reminded me that there is a great deal of local quality to be found in London's restaurants.

Not every dish was great, or even particularly good in some cases, but the philosophy behind the restaurant is so staggeringly simple I don't know why more aren't subscribing. There is just so much to like about a place like this, from the ingredients down to the reasonable pricing (no main course cost more than £15). It might take a go or two to find the dishes you're going to love, but Hereford Road is worth a visit.

Hereford Road

Red Peppers: Teddington, Friday 27th January, 2012

When friends return, memories return with them. A dear friend of mine came home from Australia earlier this year for a short visit, which led to the re-enactment of many old traditions, gatherings and tomfoolery. Naturally, a couple of meals were included in this period, the first of which was the return to one of the oldest haunts I can remember.

Back in the first year of writing this blog, I was not eating out as much as I do now and was frequently less busy than I am now, so I wrote about memories of food. My first truly memorable meal out was at Bunter's Pizza Pie in Teddington, as a young lad with a fussy outlook and a love of spaghetti. Even though Bunter's isn't there any more, the Red Peppers which replaced it has seen its fair share of family action. In fact, this was the last meal a group of us shared before my friend left for Australia some two years ago.

Red Peppers is one of those chains that's comparable to Garfunkel's, Strada or Zizzi: you'll go there, spend £20-£30, order dishes you're sure will suffice and be done with it. They're not special places but they're convenient, easy and consistent. Having said that, given that a few months prior I'd experienced just about the worst return to any restaurant ever, I wasn't taking anything for granted.

The short of the matter - and this will be short - is that we had a lovely evening. The meal did exactly what we anticipated: delivered a no-frills set of okay dishes that nobody paid over the odds for. I had a steak & chips which, I was almost embarrassed to admit, I enjoyed more than the one I'd eaten at Dinner By Heston a week earlier (left). Okay, it clearly wasn't as good, but since my expectations were that much lower, I have to say it was a pretty decent piece of meat.

The wife went for ribs & chicken, which is something of a cult classic for anyone who knows Red Peppers (right). Essentially it's a trough filled with a couple of racks of ribs and half a chicken, liberally doused with barbecue sauce. It's a massively gluttonous main course and one that should only be ordered if you've got some serious staying power. It's hard not to enjoy it though, reminding us of a time when finishing such a dish had no effect on the waistline.

Potato skins, nachos, prawn fritters, pizzas... this place doesn't tend to do 'awful' as much as one might assume given the size and diversity of the menu. Everyone got on with it and enjoyed themselves. There isn't much point in analysing the detail of everything that was eaten because there's no way every dish needs much of a mention. It was all of a decent and unadventurously comfortable standard.

What I will say for Red Peppers is that, given most middle class upbringings, you'll have eaten at a good few places like this in the past. And as such, it's a trip down memory lane in a slightly indirect sense. Or a direct one if you grew up in Teddington or Esher. And as I found out in late January, it's a pretty good one too.

Red Peppers