Hey! France! Stop being so complacent!

Bit of a disappointing trip, this one. Lille seems to have suffered a bit from its Eurostar hub status:

The Euro is still walloping us.

Paul seems to have turned into a strange Disneyland / Starbucks hybrid (but the bread still looks OK).

It’s all a bit odd.

Fortunately there is a ray of pink, soggy light at the end of the tunnel and it’s called Le BCBG burger, and it’s available from a strangely outfitted club/bar/restaurant thing in the old town called Le 28Thiers. We stumbled in there with sore feet (too many cobbles in Lille, apparently) after clocking a business luncheoning group wrapping their chops around some rather tasty looking burgers. Certainly not the standard three course prix fixe we were looking for, but they looked good enough to make the decision to stop.

And I’m rather glad to say we did. Foie gras is a tricky beast to wedge into a burger.

It’s rich. It melts. It’s flavour can be lost when it’s not kept simple.

The classically French steak haché traditionally holds its posh, naked head high: sneering at its American counterparts that have been blackened and cloched with plastic cheese. But the French love a good burger, much as they don’t like to admit it, and this was a great find. In fact I’m glad to say this was a truly excellent burger. The patties were cooked only just enough, as you’d expect, and the tremendously generous slab of foie quickly liquified all over everything on the plate in a most satisfying manner.

Needless to say, the cheese-baked brioche was perfect, and somehow managed to encase the bloody contents without incident. Tasty too.

I did need a nap afterwards. The best non-traditional thing in a town that needs a good kick up the cul.

So many great things have happened since my first post on the Meatwagon early last year.

I’ve visited countless times, and even ran into Yianni at the Verdugo Bar in LA last summer.

I was on holiday. Yianni was doing research.

He’s a guy that has taken a detailed, systematic and yet unendingly passionate approach to this project, and after visiting the #MEATEASY twice, I’m starting to wonder what state his empire will be in this time next year.

Of course the ‘wagon was stolen, which we all know. But out of the darkness comes the light.

At Meateasy there are door guys, and burgerettes, and a full menu and a roof and an amazing bar and decor and one of London’s most mid-Atlantic atmospheres (this place feels like it’s in New York, not New Cross).

There are a few questions to answer and points to make. So without further ado, for those of you considering a visit:

1. The food is still brilliant

Quality hasn’t dropped. Whatsoever. The Chilli burger is still as good now as it was a year ago. They’re not standing still either: the fries and macaroni cheese have improved significantly over the last week.

2. It’s a brilliant space

Music, ambiance, quality of booze. All fantastic.

3. It’s not a restaurant!

You cannot turn up at 8pm and expect to eat in a timely fashion. If at all. The same rules apply now as they did with the ‘wagon itself – turn up on time, or early. For the Meateasy, that means 6pm. Check your expectations with your watch.

With the practicalities out of the way, there are a few thoughts I want to throw out there. I had a brief exchange on Twitter with Daniel (he of BurgerMonday and other FoodWeekdays fame) after he said:

“Still I hope Yianni will inspire others, not intimidate ‘em”

To which I said:

“If this was LA there would be 14 meatwagons by now. Probably more.”

I think this is something that needs further discussion.

As mentioned earlier, it’s now been a full year since Yianni showed up on the food blogger radar. Since then, he has properly crossed over into the mainstream with traditional media coverage, almost universal online admiration and among certain circles, has become a bonafide household name. This isn’t going to stop.

But what of the others? Where are the other street food entrepreneurs? The other guerilla dining obsessives?

Visiting LA last summer, there were dozens of foodtrucks catering to every cuisine and culinary whim you could think of. And they’re still multiplying like rabbits. It’s the same in San Francisco and the East coast is rapidly catching up. They’re all a pretty amiable bunch too, since cultivating an online following is key to foodtruck success. For example, I felt genuinely proud to be Slidin’ Thru’s first customer from the UK.

They even posed for a picture:

(They’re in Vegas, but they illustrate the point I’m trying to make.)

At the time they were nearly all startups. They’d been open for two to three months, maybe. Tops. And there were dozens of them, with an enormous crowd of cash-ready, media-savvy customers following them around the city, wanting a new favourite dish.

Even the old hands, such as Kogi BBQ (five trucks, three locations per day each, five days a week), have turned into full-on empires without relinquishing their values and food quality.

It’s an enviably simple model – find something you can do really well, build a following, then expand.

Yianni has clearly done his stateside homework and is building his empire. Not just with food, but with PR, marketing and customer experience. He’s not even behind the grill anymore. He’s front of house at the Meateasy. He’s doing interviews with the Evening Standard and quality checking.

So having established all of that, it saddens me a bit that there aren’t any other grassroots street food startups generating the same buzz with amazing food. Somebody should be giving Yianni a run for his money, the same way that all the LA foodtrucks compete with each other (and their brick ‘n mortar-based, venture-backed buddies) to earn the crown of being the best. They’ve already had a reality show doing just that.

I will always love what he does and what he has done for bringing proper American food to London after all this time. It underlines our completely British approach to competition when there’s nobody else doing anything remotely similar in the same space.

Where do we go from here?

The other question mark with the Meateasy will be what happens when it shuts down in March. Between now and then, a back-of-fag-packet calculation suggests the MeatEmpire will have served way, way more covers than it ever has done before. With that comes the next difficult sequel.

How do you go from having created such a special place, with a full menu, table service, a bigger kitchen, electronic ordering systems and all the other elements that add up to their slickest project yet, to then shutting it down and going back to a little van again?

And what of the pubs? Surely, Yianni is in the completely unique position of being able to say to any pub in London, from zone 1 to 6, that he can show up with his team and guarantee a horde of big eating, big drinking punters. Most of whom will post about it online. And then bring in even more punters. That surely has to factor in to his long term strategy.

I don’t know what’s going to happen next, but I sincerely hope his amazing burgers will be around for a long time to come. And maybe it’s time for somebody else to be just as obsessive and give him a run for his money. But for now, it’s still very much the best burger joint in Britain. And the odds are it will stay that way for a long time yet.

NB. This post is not addressing all the lovely people that do a sterling job running London’s supperclubs. This is a food truck rant only. Thanks for understanding!

It’s not too embarrassing to admit the only reason I wanted to go here over my usual Thursday night Bankside beer haunt is because of Jay Rayner’s glowing review the other week. Beer, booths and burgers is a combination I’ll always seek out.

The most surprising thing about the Draft House is just how bloody busy it is. It’s in that particularly dead bit of Tower Bridge Road, just over the bridge itself, that was previously home to a few shaky pubs, some takeaways and a generous helping of city folk living in gentrified warehouses. Not quite Bermondsey, too far down Tooley Street to be London Bridge and away from the after-dark madness of Bermondsey Street.

But despite that, it’s rammed full of the after work crowd. Maybe they’re members of Boris’ team nipping over the road, or maybe they’ve schlepped it over the bridge for a decent pint, since Tower Hill is completely devoid of anything resembling a decent public house.

Having gone through a few jars of Meteor from France and a New Zealand lager I can’t remember the name of, we managed to get one of the green apple coloured booths in the restaurant section. The combination of beer menu, food selection and general ambience immediately reminded us of San Francisco’s own Monk’s Kettle. The whole vibe is here is much less the typical London gastropub, much more Pacific coast craft beer infused interpretation of gastropub. For London, this is by no means a Bad Thing.

Being a burger guy, there was only one real option on this menu, which was this:

It’s a 10oz burger with smoked cheese and bacon. It came with some brilliantly crispy french fries and a sharp, silky home-made mayonnaise to dip them in. There are some very notable things about this burger, especially considering it’s from London and not San Francisco. The patty was confidently cooked and held itself together well. The various accompaniments were just right and most importantly of all there was absolutely no skimping on the cheese. It had a beautiful melt with just enough tang to compliment the patty.

The only minor disappointment was the brioche bun. It certainly looks the part: I’ve not come across a burger brioche this convincing on this side of the Atlantic. Unfortunately it was just a teeny bit past its best; not completely stale but certainly not fresh enough to compliment the other constituent parts of what is otherwise a superb sandwich. A liberal smothering of their excellent mayo helped soften it back up.

There are two other Draft Houses in other parts of South London I’ll never visit, so I’m really pleased to have one in Tower Bridge. Go here to eat and drink. The attention to detail is highly commendable and I’ll be back to try the celebrated pork belly as soon as I can feasibly get away with it. And they have Ghostbusters wallpaper.

I stumbled into the Mayfair Goodman with the good lady completely by accident a few months ago. We had in fact been making our way across the West End to Byron, to try out the celebrated nuclear cheese version of their burgers, as requested by me and dozens of others.

Goodman was just right there. And had burgers. And we’d just purchased an enormous skillet from John Lewis and I was trying to not kneecap passing tourists with it.

It was a welcome, tobacco-coloured stop, where we had a very serviceable burger (not as drippy as I’d been led to believe) and a really quite jaw dropping beef carpaccio.

Fast forward to August and the new cunningly-placed Bank branch is running a three day soft launch. It’s an address that will ensure generations of long boozy banker lunches and the wine list has been knowingly selected to match the expenses drubbing it will no doubt be fuelling. It was a simple visit, especially when we had to pass on the full steak experience previously.

I’m a huge fan of the upmarket steakhouse. It’s an American export that is wholly welcome in London, where our steak has been bland and tasteless for too long. And it really helps showcase some of the stunning meat available in the capital. Hawksmoor’s Ginger Pig partnership springs to mind. We’re in a new era of local rock star butchery, and this new breed of steakhouse is the venue

The key elements that make Goodman really good fun are all in the detail. The servers wear chef’s whites. It gives the unconscious illusion that they might be the one actually grilling the cut you choose from the selection tray. The tray itself is a masterstroke. I don’t think I’d ever order fillet steak normally, but the fact we could see just how marbled the fillet actually was is a huge selling point. It also gives you a visual guide as to what you can expect. I still struggle to think of beef metrically.

Everything is branded. The entire room and everything in it has been given a great deal of thought. The knives. The tap water bottle. The plates. The waiting staff. It’s not subtle, but it’s pretty and it’s tasteful.

They don’t skimp on portions. Sure, you pay for it, but just the fact you can order a 900g USDA porterhouse is immensely satisfying. The meat is impeccably cooked, provided you give enough detail when ordering (medium rare, but the rarer side of medium, not blue please). It’s well seasoned. The bearnaise has enough bite to it and doesn’t congeal too quickly. The stilton sauce is a richly reduced gravy, a country mile away from the gelatinous cheese sauce you’d expect otherwise. It all goes together brilliantly.

The accompaniments are, like the meat, flawless. The truffle chips are crisp and fluffy, the mushrooms are doused in just enough garlic butter and the tomato salad actually has some really quality tomatoes in it. And a good tomato can be very hard to find.
The only thing to really bring up is money. I’ve had a fair few discussions with beef fans who declare, with good reason, that they could just as easily go to O’Shea’s or the Ginger Pig or Allen’s of Mayfair and buy their own T-bone, rib eye or Porterhouse, take it home and grill it there. It’s a very good point. Steak isn’t hard to cook properly.

Even with 50% off food it was still nudging £45 a head for a single course, some shared sides, a cocktail and a glass of Malbec (our desserts were comped due to a spot of inadvertent menu proof reading). It would have been £70 on a normal day. What makes it sting less is how good the experience is, but it’s priced for special occasion, and do you just want a steak when you’re paying that much money?

Therefore I think Goodman falls squarely into the ‘awesome if on somebody else’s expenses‘ bracket. Or just keep going back for the burger. At £12 it’s the star buy.

Full set of photos available on flickr

Well. The annual Big One.

The Ledbury was the site of my birthday lunch, back in May. The annual epic Michelin blow-out.

The Ledbury was absolutely top of the list after genuinely gushing reviews from all kinds of folks whom I respect enormously, most notably Mark from Wahaca who talked about it without taking a breath for several minutes.

So a table for six was dutifully booked way in advance, and in the final weekend of May we ventured out West to parts of Notting Hill we’d probably not see again for quite some time.

Before we get into any kind of by-the-numbers course dissection (which I think I’ll just let the photographs do, erm, visually), it’s worth pointing out exactly what I feel makes the Ledbury one of the absolute Best Restaurants In London.

Service.

Bonhomie. Banter. Wit. Overwhelming knowledge. A little bit of showing off. All perfectly placed. Deftly timed.

There are very few restaurants that can truly say they’ve got the appropriate level of service absolutely right, but the Ledbury is certainly one of them. The staff somehow manage to be convivial, relaxed and sometimes downright cheeky without straying too far into the uncomfortable over-friendliness and ill-timing that plagues other London restaurants, especially in the ££££ bracket.

And it’s not just the maitre d’ or sommelier who exude this uncanny, natural charm, but every single member of the waiting staff.

All of them. Exceptional.

Texture.

What elevates the Ledbury’s cooking into its very own league is the quite unbelievable variety of texture, both in each individual dish and across the whole menu. It’s an enormously difficult thing to express in words, so if you haven’t already been sold to enough, get down there and eat. Just the simple act of putting each course in your mouth is a highly excitable and complex experience, weird as that may sound.

My mother, in her own inimitable style, referred to the use of ‘grit’ in each course. She meant it in the nicest possible way, and I don’t think any of us could think of a better word for it. It’s layered softness, but with depth. Nope. Not much better. Moving on…

Being a bit daring.

I suppose I’m referring to the wine here. We went for the matched wines at an extra £45 per head. Red with fish. Port halfway through. Mental. A blithe disregard for the Michelin rulebook. But calm, considered, tradition-banishing choices. The kind of choices that exude confidence in each component choice of every course.

And each of the bolder choices were flawlessly explained by the sommelier. What a dude.

So now this review is a bit past its menu relevancy date, I’m not sure what’s still on the Ledbury tasting menu. Our collective highlights were the faux squid risotto, the pomp and theatre surrounding the celeriac. Yes, celeriac can be sexy. And the finest loin of lamb you ever did see.

The trouble now is I feel the Ledbury should be in my life more often, since it’s such a joyous, care-free, but undeniably elegant experience. And what makes it even more tempting is the simple fact that the set menus are an absolute steal.

If it’s on your to-eat list, move it up a few notches to the top and get over there. You will not be disappointed.

Check it:

Full set of photos available on flickr

It’s funny how it’s only really been nine months or so since I started visiting East London’s supper clubs, and the speed with which they seem to be proliferating and evolving.

We were lucky enough to visit Shacklewell Nights’ first evening of service, run by Claire from Green Onions and Jonathan from a little restaurant you might have heard of called St John. The concept, in their words:

They have joined together to cook the very best of seasonal British food to be enjoyed by diners in the relaxed and informal surroundings of the old clothing factory.

So essentially we have a highly experienced supper clubber teaming up with one of London’s most respected proper-British-type restaurants. And probably more of a focus on the dining room too rather than just the food. Expectations were high.

Shacklewell is divided into about four or five large communal tables in a buzzy, top floor industrial building. Dishes are served per table, with everyone passing them round.

We started with an excellent brown shrimp, samphire and potato starter, dressed to perfection. Just enough bite to the shrimp. Fresh and summery.

Following that was a platter of beautifully cooked duck legs on a bed of white beans and bacon. Both of these dishes were very simple with big, bold flavours. Very St John. Very seasonal. Most enjoyable.

Pudding was a sorbet with vodka shot palate cleanser followed by a blackberry fool with the most perfect shortbread biscuit you ever did taste. A well rounded meal with great like-minded folks, run like a ‘proper’ restaurant.

So Shacklewell certainly isn’t a supper club. It’s way too slick. You’re paying for those top-end ingredients and proper-restaurant service (the room seats fifty I think). The chefs wear whites and everything. The big leagues.

Of course, now I’ve written this, Shacklewell won’t be popping up again for another two months. So keep an eye on the Twitter account, and if you fancy a lovingly prepared British four courser with a friendly, knowledgeable crowd then it’s well worth a visit.

There’s a movement gaining ground in London at the moment. As Byron Hamburger spreads across the capital with breakneck speed (and eventually capsizing aging Hamburger Unions and weary GBKs in its wake), the joy of finding a decent hamburger in the capital is becoming less of a rarity. I’m a big fan of Byron. They’re mainstreaming and quality-controlling the expansion of a decent burger experience. This is something London is not used to.

At the opposite end of the scale, away from the building sites and the neatly printed menus and expensive agency branding, you’ll find The Meatwagon. Behind a large van in a very typical Zone 2 industrial estate a few minutes walk from Peckham Rye station, sits an unbranded, unassuming little food van. This is the celebrated Meatwagon. I first came across the ‘wagon from a similarly burger-afflicted friend who pointed me in the direction of their Twitter account. It said they weren’t going to be around for a few weeks. Harrumph.

And then, on a Wednesday afternoon, an update. It’s back. Thursday and Friday. From 12pm ‘until we run out’. Ominous. Tempting. Only nine minutes on the train from London Bridge.

A flurry of instant messages between me and another burger critic, and we’re set for Friday.

After stumbling through some leafy Peckham side streets, getting a bit lost, and a quick ‘that can’t be it’ double-take, we’re standing before a beaming Yianni, who gleefully tells us he can do a cheeseburger, bacon cheeseburger or chilli burger. With chips. Triple-cooked. Obvs.

I think the pictures do these justice, but there’s a few points to make here. Yianni uses 100% chuck which he pulls out of a little fridge in big fistfuls and bashes them into patties in front of you. Salt and pepper. The bacon is interesting. He boils up a side of bacon, shreds some off and bashes that into a patty too. It’s thick and chewy, like American crispy bacon without the fat, chemicals and over-saltiness. As for the chilli, it’s half a green chilli fried in butter with a touch of stock. Genius. Both are thrown on top of the patty on the grilling plate before the piece de resistance goes on last. The cheese.

Two slices of it come out of the fridge. It looks like Kraft. We ask if it is Kraft, like a pair of over-excited children. Yianni smiles and says “No, it’s real cheese. It’s taken me ages to source this and it’s my secret. I’ll happily tell you about the rest of the process, but the cheese is my secret weapon”. We don’t push.

The buns are locally sourced white sourdough. Soft. Unseeded. Exceptional. Yianni carefully lattices mustard and ketchup on each side so they have a perfect covering.

And when we get to eating it, the fact we’re standing next to a bin in a glorified car park in Peckham just melts away. The meat is juicy, flawlessly pink and perfectly seasoned. The cheese which has since melted into the patty renders us speechless and  is as close as you’ll ever get to a west coast In’n'Out-alike. The meat-to-bun-to-condiment ratio is perfect. We are ecstatic.

If you’ve got anything more than a passing interest in quality burgers, then follow the Meatwagon. Yianni said he’ll be back in a few weeks time. The Meatwagon is his part-time dalliance when he’s not doing proper catering jobs. Get down there. It’s an adventure and it’s London’s best burger. It’s a damn sight better, and 100% more Guerilla, than that other place.

Follow the Meatwagon on Twitter and Facebook.

Being a former Englishman domiciled in Paris, I always savour a return to a city that in my experience has been equally enchanting and exasperating. The unfortunate consideration during my student run in Paris was that I couldn’t really explore the celebrated side of the local cuisine owing to the obvious financial restrictions. That was back in the early noughties, so now when I do return, I always like to find out where to go thanks to a network of old friends.

I’m no longer a fan of doing the de rigeur Bistro/Bourguignon combo when I do visit; I’ve long since had my fill, and in my opinion, Paris’ once untouchable standards seem to be slipping in the flawless dining department. Maybe it’s the Euro. I don’t know. But time, and mealtimes, is short on these fleeting visits, so mealtimes must not be wasted.

Kitchen Galerie Bis is a very new, very hip, very shiny offshoot of Ze Kitchen Galerie. ZKG is the home of William Ledeuil, who I now know to be the papa of new wave Parisian fusion cuisine. Asian mystique and umami combined that somehow manages to stay unmistakably French and avoids any unpleasant 80s-ness.

It was to a friend of a sibling, known only as ‘French David’ that our KGB visit can be accredited. It’s not been open long, and is the mini-er, slightly cheaper edition of Ledeuil’s Ze Kitchen Galerie.

The room is well-lit, airy and dotted with various horrendous works of vomity art. That’s the galerie part.

The menu is short and punchy, with two extra specials for the mains. We had six of the zors d’oeuvres, because we’d been told to. They’re the highlight, and the up-sell for the more expensive tasting menu located just down the road (which worked too, we’ll be booking a table there next time, budget be damned). Here’s what we got:

Having only managed to capture about 30% of the accompanying description from the staff, we dived in. Each of the six was a work of art itself. Very intense, well conceptualised and executed little dishes that were bursting with flavour, each obviously being a bit of a surprise. Lots of foam and lots of flavour.

Umami central

The mains are all served in bowls, and we had the barbu fish special and the suckling lamb. The former was meaty, delicate and incredibly complex at the same time – lemongrass and star anise were definitely in there as well as Japanese Mandarin, but there’s so much going on it’s almost too much for the palate.

Foamy subtlety that gets right into your head and stays there. Extraordinary and unexpected.

The lamb was beautifully soft and pink, but not in the same other-worldly league as the fish:

The apricot and curry spices worked marvellously, but it didn’t have that same wow factor that an amazing piece of fish can give you.

The winelist was flawless as expected (we had a 2008 Freesia that complimented the intensity of the food brilliantly), but what I must single out KGB for is their service. As briefly mentioned earlier, you just don’t get the same Parisian service that you did five to ten years ago, but they’ve really got it right here. The staff were genuinely friendly, courteous and always there when you needed them, an increasing rarity in this price range at both ends of the Eurostar line. They were all clearly fans of what the kitchen was churning out too, and how often does that happen?

If you’re after something a little bit different, and love fish and fusion, then KGB is definitely worth a visit. Really interesting concept, flawlessly executed on all fronts. Apart from the galerie itself.

Go and have a look at the rest of the pictures, including all the individual zors d’oeuvres, over on flickr

It’s been a short but delightful relationship so far. Having only heard of supper clubs whispered discreetly among those more in-the-know than I, it was October’s visit to Fernandez & Leluu that started it all off.

Tucked away on a secret Hackney side-street was their makeshift dining room. It was full of tables, plates, cutlery and character. We, being the first to arrive, scampered into the garden for some wine. As others turned up, exchanged knowing glances, we settled into a six hour gastronomic experience that was far superior to many of the more official eateries in recent memory. Since then we’ve attended F&L two more times and witnessed the founding of the excellent Trail of Our Bread (also in Hackney).

So after not really knowing what to expect, here’s a few tips if you’ve been thinking about signing up to the supper club experience:

1. It’s not a restaurant.

So don’t treat it like one. It’s someone’s house. Try not to break things, don’t expect fresh cutlery for each course, don’t expect each course to arrive with rapid fire precision. It’s highly unlikely anyone’s actually worked in a proper restaurant.

2. It’s really not a restaurant.

You’re not paying for a service from a business. You’re donating time and money to be part of a fun experiment. You’re the subject of someone’s passion. A supper club attendee has been chosen. Pre-selected. Almost vetted, really. So the social implications of just being there and meeting other diners creates a bonhomie that no typical restaurant experience can match.

3. Pay fair.

We’re British. Therefore we’re useless at dealing with, and asking for, money. On the off-chance you didn’t like the food, and even if you’re the sort of person who refuses to pay for things in restaurants, don’t dick the club out of its donation. Pay at least 10-20% over the suggested donation. Take plenty of cash with you, because if it’s really exceptional, then it’s still going to have cost you less than going to a restaurant.

4. Don’t be picky. Or flaky.

Well, to be more specific, if you’re the picky type, then supper clubs aren’t for you. We’ve had everything from frog’s legs to sashimi. Things that might make you go bleurgh. I’m one of those people that’ll try anything once, and my favourite menus are those that are just presented to me. I don’t know what’s best, I’ve not cooked it. If you can’t handle that as a concept, then you won’t enjoy yourself. But if you love the surprise of each dish arriving, you’ll have a brilliant time.

And for goodness sake, don’t cancel. Cancelling a reservation at a supper club is the baddest of bad form. Only cancel if you’ve lost a limb, or died. It hurts everyone else involved with the endeavour. Seating plans and portion sizes are the main victims, and they’re very carefully planned. If you’re taking a large group to a supper club then make sure none of your flaky mates are invited. It will reflect badly on you otherwise, and you’ll struggle to get another table.

5. Be nice.

Nicer than default restaurant mode. You can make friends at supper clubs. As previously mentioned, most of these folks haven’t had professional training. So compliment loudly and often. More than you’re used to doing. Ask for recipes, be specific about what you liked. Be honest about what could have been better.

But even more importantly than all that, remember that the geographic locations of these clubs is a secret. I’m no expert, but the legality of these clubs is dubious. So don’t add them to FourSquare.

6. Take plenty of booze.

It’s a long night. Don’t plan on having anywhere else to be. If you get out of there before midnight, you’re doing it wrong.

And pace yourself.