The St John Bacon Sandwich

St John Bread & Wine in Spitalfields is the younger sibling of the original St John in Smithfield.  Although following the same philosophy of nose-to-tail eating and simple dishes made from impeccable ingredients it's not just a clone of the mothership, the most obvious difference being the menu style.  Rather than dividing their food up into starters and mains there's just one big daily changing list of dishes, the majority of them smaller ones chiming in around £5-8 with a handful of larger ones usually in the £12-15 bracket encouraging a more relaxed, mix-and-match-and-sharing approach to ordering and the atmosphere and service is accordingly more informal than back at base.  They tend to be a bit more experimental here too, but the biggest difference is that for an hour or two each morning B&W opens for breakfast.  There are always a few different things on the breakfast menu but you don't need to bother reading it, the one thing that's always on it is their monumental bacon sandwich.

If you know anything about St John and Fergus Henderson then your expectations for the humble bacon butty will probably be extremely high and at £5.40 a go if you didn't have any expectations you will now, mainly along the lines of "this had better be bloody good".  Happily what turns up is not only the best bacon sarnie you're likely to find in London it's also about the size of your head.

Three reasons it's this good: the bacon, the bread and how they cook it.  It almost goes without saying that the bacon is as good as it gets, proper slices of Old Spot back bacon that are juicy and extremely tasty, not the dry shrivelled vehicles for delivering vast quantities of salt and preservatives that often pass for bacon.  The bread is fresh from their own on-site open bakery that you can peer into from the restaurant.  Proper bakeries aren't too common in London unfortunately, there are a few good ones around but to my mind nothing beats the fantastic bread produced here, especially the sourdoughs.  You can wander in just to buy individual loaves and other goodies over the counter.

The bacon's cooked and the bread toasted on big open flame grill; you can see the pleasing scorch marks on the meat and the bread, and you can taste the satisfying gentle charred smokeyness.  They make it look so simple, but if you've ever tried toasting bread on a bbq you'll probably know how easy it is to get it all wrong, you either get the outside black and burnt and the inside barely warm or if it's spent too long on a non-incinerating part of the grill then it becomes dessicated just when you're not looking, your slice of bread suddenly takes on the texture of a brittle biscuit.

When Canteen opened up across the road from B&W in Spitalfields market they tried to ape the St John bacon sandwich - quality bacon, posh bread, all on an open grill - and they couldn't get the bread right, it kept turning up with that biscuity thing going on.  Biting into your bacon butty to have the bread shatter into hard, sharp pieces, half of it on the table with bits of bacon and sauce, the other half cutting up the insides of your mouth is not pleasant.  They seem to have gone the other way now, the last bacon sandwich I had in Canteen was made with 'plastic' ready-sliced bread with streaky bacon (not properly crisped up, argh) which some people will tell you is how a bacon sandwich should be made.  These are people who have never had the St John bacon sandwich.

The other vital ingredient for a bacon sandwich is the sauce to go with it, and at B&W you get a little pot on the side of home-made tomato ketchup.  The lack of HP sauce may make some people want to cry but you should try it, it works fabulously.  You don't want so much on that it gets in the way of the sandwich, I think the only reason there's such a tradition of dousing HP sauce everywhere is to try and make sandwiches made with the aforementioned shitty bacon actually taste of something.  There's always Canteen over the road if you can't eat one without HP.

The bacon sandwich window only exists between 9 and 11am weekdays, 10-11 at weekends.  I did hear a rumour that they were going to expand this and open a bit earlier but that doesn't seem to have happened.  At 11 all the staff sit down in the restaurant and have a big communal lunch which is fun to watch.  It does mean however that they're not shy about slamming shut the bacon butty window with the apparently starving chefs seeming to have their watches set a few minutes fast.  Between 11 and 12 they serve an elevenses menu which usually consists of seed cake and a glass of Madeira which is very pleasant but it's no substitute for a bacon sandwich if you're 5 minutes late.

Most hangovers are pretty powerless against such a beast, but if you're really struggling ask for a Dr Henderson.  It's not on the menu, it's a drink made with Fernet Branca - an Italian liquer full of herbs - and creme de menthe named after Fergus Henderson's father.  It's the last thing you want to see - it's bright green - let alone drink if you're suffering from the previous night's excesses but oh boy does it work.  Drink it all down in as few goes as possible then just give it a minute or two to get your sight back and for the shaking and spasms and facial tics to stop, once the colour's returned to your cheeks you'll be ready to meet the rest of the day with a smile on your face.  Although don't try driving or operating machinery.  You'll occasionally see a Dr Henderson Ice Cream on the dessert menu which I find somewhat terrifying.

Monsieur M

Monsieur M opened around the start of December in part of the old Shoreditch Town Hall building on Old Street, billing itself as an "Indochinese" restaurant.  The building itself is quite fascinating: a large and imposing Baroque exterior in Portland stone, all pillars and carvings and reliefs, saved from disuse and dereliction at the start of the 21st century by the formation of the Shoreditch Town Hall Trust.  The central couple of halls are impressive and quite beautifully restored although the last time I went to anything in one of the smaller rooms squirrelled away in the little warren of dusty corridors and up creaking staircases I was reminded more of The Shining than anything else.  The building was the scene of the public inquest into the death of Mary Kelly, the last - and by far the most gruesome - of Jack the Ripper's murders.  The story that emerged from the hearing caused a sensation with journalists from all over the world attending and enthusiastically reporting back to their readers the shocking, grisly details, cementing the murderer's legendary status that fuels a mini local economy in "Ripper Walks" and talks which still thrives today.  Once the borough of Shoreditch became part of Hackney in the Sixties the Town Hall was no longer needed and it served as a boxing venue until a young Joe Bugner killed an opponent there in a fight early on his career which led to Hackney banning boxing altogether, causing Shoreditch Town Hall's decline to such a state it was put on the 'at risk' register in the '90s before the formation of the Trust finally brought a new lease of life.

Not the happiest history for a building to have, but it's now managed and marketed as an all-purpose events space, hosting everything from weddings, arts & crafts fairs and music concerts to meditation classes and indeed, Indochinese restaurants.  I'm not sure what the strict definition of Indochinese is but here it means a mixture of Thai and Vietnamese, quite a brave thing to do in these economic times when you're sandwiched between Cay Tre and the imminent new branch of Busaba on one side and Kingsland Road's army of Vietnamese restaurants on the other.

Monsieur M occupies the west wing of the building and has its own entrance.  It doesn't look too inviting from the outside, there's big red illuminated signage and lights by the doorway that let you know something's there but Shoreditch Town Hall wasn't built to encourage hungry people to drop in for a look-see.  It's pleasant enough once you're through the door however, with the odd Buddha lying around and the large bare walls painted in bright slabs of colour, the lighting subdued enough with little tealights on the table to give it a bit more atmosphere in the evenings - a welcome touch with most Oriental places at this level making your typical Wetherspoons look like Sketch.  It's a bit of an awkward space - to be expected I suppose seeing as it's shoehorned into a few Town Hall rooms - and It's obviously not somewhere that expects you to linger for too long, the bare wooden tables with wooden stools quickly convey that message, the high ceilings and hard surfaces make it noisy and lively pretty quickly and you certainly aren't going to spend much time pondering your choices from the menu since they only have three items on it, along with a couple of side dishes, all of which change daily.

On my last visit (an unscheduled lunch stop to thaw out after being caught in the snow on Saturday afternoon) the choices were a chicken Thai curry, "bun pork balls" (Vietnamese pork meatballs with vermicelli noodles) and pho, the famous Vietnamese beef noodle soup, the two side dishes were summer rolls and chicken in pandan leaf.  And that was your lot.  Each main had a vegetarian option (where the meat was replaced with tofu) so you could possibly argue (like the waiter) there were 6 mains available but I wouldn't believe you.  Summer rolls and pho are big favourites of mine so deciding what to have took a couple of seconds, the summer rolls arriving in the blink of an eye.  A rather daft mistake to make was serving them in a hot-out-of-oven bowl causing the delicate rice paper skin of the cold rolls to start sticking to it.  The rolls themselves were decent enough although they were vegetarian ones (no choice here) so no pork or shrimp in them which would have made them a bit more interesting but they were fresh and lively, packed with herbs and crunchy cold noodles and cucumber and a thick dipping sauce topped with peanuts and a slight sour tamarind tang to it that was very tasty.

This was just passing the time really till I could see what they made of the pho.  Talk about coals to Newcastle, if you're going to choose just 3 dishes for the day and you've got about 15 Vietnamese restaurants within a 5 minute walk (including Song Que which is pho-tastic) then you're going to have to be pretty confident you've cooked up something special, I thought.  What turned up was decent enough, generous helpings of good quality steak and brisket cuts of beef and dense, very finely minced meatballs sitting in a broth that was okay, laden with a nice mix of herbs and noodles.  What on Earth they thought they were doing serving red pepper on top I do not know but I never want to experience it again.  It's a shame it was all made up in the kitchen though, order pho in any of the restaurants nearby and it's very much a DIY affair, the table quickly loaded up with herbs, beansprouts, chillis, limes and other odds and sods depending where you are, for you to add to your liking as you progress through the soup.  The only addition supplied here was a little bowl of fiery, smokey, oily chilli sauce since there was nothing very spicy about the soup as it was served.

I really quite liked Monsieur M though as I trekked back out into the freezing snow and wind, there's an endearing enthusiasm about the place.  No-one I know has been wowed into raptures by the food but also they've only got positive things to say about it and with the place holding about 80 or 90 covers the 3-mains-only daily changing menu shows a commitment to quality over quantity that is refreshing to see.  From talking to the staff there they're hoping to bump up the number of choices on the menu a bit "once we've found our feet properly" and I hope they get the chance to, and it's a good choice for a friendly pitstop when you're happy to take what's on offer.

Main courses £7.60, sides £3.60, details on the Monsieur M website.

Galvin Cafe De Luxe

The Galvin brothers opened Galvin La Chapelle to quite some fanfare a few weeks ago and it seems like every blog and newspaper and restaurant website you can think of has weighed in with a review of the place recently.  Generally speaking they're all very positive although there seems to be a common theme of being distinctly underwhelmed by the whole experience, the high expectations from the Galvin brothers previous ventures, the rather dramatic setting of their new place and the prices charged making it quite common to see reviews ending with rather wistful noises about what could/should have been.


But whatever, something that seems to have gone pretty much uncommented on is the cafe operation attached to the side of the main restaurant.  Wandering past it tonight in freezing temperatures, snow coming down horizontally at 100mph thanks to a biting wind that was whipping up my trousers and on the verge on unmanning me, that was all the excuse I needed to pop in and investigate.  Open from 8am doing breakfasts and through the day with a 'plat du jour' at lunch and into the evening it's a much more ordinary looking affair that backs out onto Bishop's Square than the spectacularly housed restaurant with its discreet Spital Square side entrance into the renovated St Botolph's church.  It's actually a bit surreal sitting as it does beneath several floors of brand spanking new City Lifestyle designer apartments, which you can gaze up at from within parts of the cafe thanks to the glass ceiling and the two small outdoor seating areas.  It reminded me a little bit of the Blueprint Cafe, the restaurant above the Design Museum on Butler's Wharf where you can look out on one side straight into several of the swish riverside flats next door to it and watch the residents pottering around as you eat your dinner.  Or maybe I just need to curb my voyeurism.

Sitting at the bar, still with my coat and scarf on (although I'd taken my gloves off - I do know how to behave in these places) I ordered a gin martini and took a look at the menu whilst waiting for me to come up to the same temperature as the rest of the room.  The martini was decent enough, the "twist" of lemon peel (about 1/4 of a lemon) somewhat over the top but it was nicely chilled and did a good job of warming me up, the poor waiter who was sent diving through the doors into the wet arctic gale to rescue some chairs that were being blown away could probably have done with one too.  The menu reads well, it's full of things you want to eat (assuming you're not a vegetarian) and it's not easy making a normal-sized-person choice - onion soup, snails, steak tartare, herrings, fois gras terrine and a choice of oysters amongst the starters, pork belly, bouillabaisse, steak, boudin noir stick in the mind from the choice of mains although they're all described in much more attractive detail than that.

I had ham and celeriac remoulade starter and am kicking myself for not being able to remember the name of the ham - air-cured and sliced wafer thin with large pristine white fatty borders it was stunningly good.  Parma, serrano, iberico, san danielle, whatever, if it's previously been part of a pig and it's been cured then I'm a big fan of it and this rated up there with the very best I've had, beautifully soft and moist with a deep but gentle flavour that forces you to slow down and savour every mouthful.  The celeriac was spot on too, a classic pairing to be sure, but so often it's the kitchen cocking up the straightforward things that really dispirits me - the shonky mayonnaise, flabby chips, bland aioli, too-sharp ketchup, fridge-cold butter, gloopy bearnaise, bacon that looks like it's been microwaved.

Next up was confit leg of duck with braised lentils and black pudding, not quite as successful but I still would have licked the plate clean if the place hadn't been so busy.  The duck had a nice crispy skin but the meat itself was too dry, the former probably causing the latter.  The lentils and black pudding were delicious, rich and hearty, the black pudding of the soft and crumbly variety that you can almost spread on stuff and just right for this dish.  Other dishes getting wheeled out around me look great, the onion soup and the bouillabaisse in particular.  I think if I had my time again I'd order the onion soup followed by two ham and celeriacs.

All classic stuff that you'd expect to see really, and the cafe menu reads a lot more like a shorter version of the menu from their first restaurant, Bistrot de Luxe.  Comparisons with it's grand conjoined twin are inevitable though: La Chapelle has a Cote de Boeuf (for 2) the cafe offers a rib eye steak (for 1); La Chap serves a pavé of halibut, in the caff you get a wood roast sea bream; LC can do you a tagine of "squab pigeon", CDL a confit duck leg; in the churchy bit they have a "Feuillette of baby leeks, salsify and hazlenut emulsion" (oh yes they do) and well, I think you probably get the point.  La Chapelle is big and elaborate, impressive to look at and hitting all the aspirational pressure points in the bodies of the expenses-fuelled City lunchtime wheeler and dealer with the clinical expertise of a Bangkok soapy massage.  The Cafe De Luxe on the other hand sits quietly round the back with its low ceiling and funky zinc bar and little tables, serving familiar food that people want to eat and sending them on their way with a proper happy ending.

A couple of other points worth mentioning: the menu for the cafe has a "from the wood oven" section with only 4 items on it - a tarte flambé and pizzas (one of which was a pissaladière, a white pizza) - but which sounded impressive, just one or two ingredients on each suggesting a confidence that reeled me in, I nearly ordered the ceps pizza.  I didn't see a single one served unfortunately but am keen to return and investigate what's quite an odd little section to be sitting in the middle of their menu.  I don't recall a "from the wood oven" section in the La Chapelle menu although I'm sure it must be used for some of the dishes, they can't have installed such a thing in their kitchen just to knock out pizzas for the cafe.  A final thumbs up goes to the wine list, predominantly (but not totally) French they have a good size proportion available by the glass (175ml), small pot (250ml), large pot (450ml) as well as the bottle.  Not the whole list unfortunately, but it's nice to see them making an effort that more places should be making.


Details of all the Galvin restaurants can be found on their website.  They don't mention the hand-dryers in the toilets that will blast the skin off your hands if you're not careful - be warned.


Bugger, the name of that ham is really winding me up, noix de something I think, ggnnnnnnnnnnn

Woodcock

I love the autumn for lots of reasons, mainly food-related.  Best of all is game, all of it.  From the furry rabbits and hares and deer to the various feathered ex-birds that spring up in market stalls, butchers and on menus all over the place.  Grouse is the big one for game season, the one with the foodie reputation, the hype, the glamour and the star billing, there's column-inches in the press with forecasts for this season's shooting, stories about Grouse shoots on the moorlands spun various ways to fit the news outlet's particular stance on these things.  They don't get much more iconic than grouse, they're fantastic eating and there's a real sense of occasion about ordering one in a restaurant.  The real highlight of game season for me though, is the woodcock.


You don't see them on restaurant menus very much, which I'm sure contributes to making being sat at a dining table with nothing between me and a little cooked woodcock such a source of pleasure.  They're highly migratory little birds and although I think there is a residential population in the UK, a larger number migrate here at the start of autumn making most of the shooting.  This means a pretty unpredictable and erratic supply and on top of that if you do see one, they're very tricky little buggers to shoot.  Whatever the reasons, if the hunters think they've got their work cut out trying to find them and shoot them it's nothing compared to trying to find them and eat them in a London restaurant.


Woodcock's empty their bowels before they take off.  This gives me twinges of guilt, rather than shooting and eating them surely we should be encouraging every bird to do this, especially the sodding pigeons, but I don't dwell on it.  What it means is that you can roast the whole bird, guts and all.  Roasting it this way heightens the flavour of the flesh itself then after cooking you scoop its guts out - intestines and everything - into a hot pan with a little stock and perhaps some booze, before spreading the roughly chopped and mixed offal onto some fried bread.  I've seen various ways of doing this described: some say you should salvage just the liver from the pan after a minute's sizzling and that should be chopped and spread with the rest going towards sieving and saucing, others tell you to discard everything except the intestines(!) and chop that up for your pate.


The other interesting thing about roasting woodcock is that you leave the head on as well, you need to protect it with some tin-foil so that after cooking the head can be removed, split and the brains scooped out as a delicate little accompaniment.  Quite an undignified end, sitting in an oven with a little tin-foil hat on and your innards cooking inside you but I think it's worthwhile.


The best woodcock I've eaten is at St John restaurant.  As with everything else they do there's no distractions or superfluous extras, it says just "Woodcock" on the menu and that's just what you get:

Although I suppose the 'watercress up bum' could be considered a distraction.  You can see the pate on fried bread in there and the split head, they thoughtfully provide you with a little teaspoon so you can scrape out the brains:

I just remembered to get a closer snap of the half-skulls before polishing off the brains in the other half:

The bird itself tastes amazing, it's pretty strong on that gamey taste that some people find so off-putting, skirting the rotting-meat/putrescence suburbs of the flavour wheel but with a sweetness that balances and lifts the whole experience; the meat has a wonderful bloody mineral tang to its flavour and is very rich and dense.  The fried bread/pate combo is an extremely intense hit of offaly meaty goodness, just the right consistency - not too rough, not pureed - and with a gentle hint of some booze in there too.  The brains, well, they're just hilarious - they don't have a strong flavour of their own, they taste creamy and feel rather soft and fluffy initially, that gives way to some firmness and solidity in texture as you bite into them, very enjoyable.


It's a tricky art stopping game birds drying out too much in the cooking, they need a hot oven for a short amount of time and you usually see them sold with their breasts larded with strips of bacon to that end.  You'd expect somewhere like St John to have this down to a fine art and this was cooked to perfection, the pan juices from the gut-cooking obviously used to raise the dish a little further.  Game birds like this aren't cheap, grouse and woodcock have been in the £27-£30 bracket on the menus in London I've seen this season and they'll be higher than that if it's a bad season ('bad' from a hunting/eating point of view, I imagine for the grouse it's a 'pretty chuffed' season) but they're worth every penny and one of the things I love most about this time of the year.


Woodcock usually appear on menus towards the end of Nov through to the start of February, best bets in London are probably to give Rules a call or keep an eye on the St John menu at their website (it's updated twice a day)


photo of (live) woodcock courtesy of guizmo_68