Bread Street Kitchen / St Paul's, London

We’re trying to figure out who is supplying London’s caterers with all these low wattage filament lightbulbs.

Mr Ramsay. Before we begin.

Christmas Cookalong.1

What the fuck were you thinking?

It was like being visually water-boarded with liquid inane awkwardness. If it wasn’t the awful Channel 4 fodder guests that ‘visited’, or Gordon’s frankly appalling repetitive small-talk, then it was the time-delayed cuts to That Guy That Played The Bongos In Jamiroquai while his dad tried unsuccessfully to hide the fact he was drinking poor quality lager at 10am on live television. Oh, and the small issue that huge chunks of the show were repeats of the previous nights’ Come Dine With Me, confusing the baubles out of people flicking on to it. Christ, I hope the pay check came in a dump truck that could fill up the father in law’s swimming pool.

Looking for the entrance to Ramsay’s newest restaurant Bread Street Kitchen, we barrel through One New Change, which sounds like a cross between a rejected boyband and an aspirational government policy.

It being at least a year since visiting Barbecoa, we realise it’s opposite. Next to a Nando’s. Just up the alley from a Byron. Round the corner from the Wasabi. Across the way from EAT.

Being on the rear end of the building, on Bread Street (hence the name), it doesn’t share the same quality views of St Paul’s that Jamie’s Barbecoa enjoys. In fact the view you do get is of the rather dull offices of the people that you’re sitting in there with.

But we are in. A sea of twill-shirted windsor knots scattered about the cavernous space faces us. The receptionist eyes us up and down, wondering to herself whether we missed Nando’s completely and fell through the wrong door.

We are a little bit uncomfortable.

The service from the get-go was super-slick. From the small-talk of the maitre d’ (“Oh you guys look like you’ve been working so hard today, try our cocktails!”) to ordering from the waiter - the food was out faster than a frisky greyhound. We went for two short rib burgers, some chips and a portion of macaroni cheese.

The burger is pretty. The burger is big. The short rib patties could hardly be faulted, if for a tad of sporadic underseasoning on one. The bouncy, brioche buns had been brushed with butter to double-team the mouth with rich butteriness. It was dripping butter before we even picked it up. The ketchup on the top bun half had the look and taste of a creamy-sweet tomato mascarpone mix. And the bottom bun was laced with shredded lettuce covered with mayonnaise and some barely-distinguishable mustard.

The result was a decadent sweet richness. So decadent in fact, that our crisp white napkins could barely protect us from the butter onslaught. The mustard was way too low in the mix to add the contrasting kick. The Bermondsey Frier cheese does a pretty good job at cloning mozzarella and halloumi, but doesn’t add the layer of salty slickness that we always look for. Similar to the carefully curated surroundings, it had an aftertaste of over-thought and design by committee.

After we’ve finished our burger, we look up to see that the entire room has filled up. We really can’t stress just how enormous BSK is. Vast. And by 8pm, after they’ve all finished their last billable 15 minutes of the day from across the road, the place is heaving. We realise a few things after agreeing that the macaroni cheese was ‘nice’.

Bread Street Kitchen is the most clumsily designed restaurant we’ve been in for years.

The menu positively froths with buzzwords, you can choose from the ‘raw bar’, ‘hot kitchen’, ‘small plates’ and the slightly spa-esque ‘hot stone’.

The reclaimed furniture: if you don’t manage to get a leather booth, you’re sitting on chairs from an Essex secondary school. We’re also trying to figure out who is supplying London’s caterers with all these low wattage filament lightbulbs. It’s been done to death here.

There is no set menu, and the portion control is rigorously small - Gordon wants you to buy at least three courses each, push a few cocktails down you and flummox you with a bafflingly long and expensive wine list. It’s the kind of wine list that sits perfectly in, say, Claridges; arguably it fits the clientele here, but it’s not for two scruffy bloggers buying a burger each and sharing a few sides.

It’s all very impressive when you’re in there. Very Big Manhattan Restaurant in what they’re going for. The illusion of which is ruined once you leave again and walk past the Nando’s next door.

If you can withstand the try-hard reclaimed decor, the cufflinked clientele, and the soft, incessant, insufferable balearic beats, then it’s worth a go. But we’d suggest getting an ISA, saving up, then taking lots of money and ploughing your way through the cocktail menu as quickly as possible. Or doing a law degree first.

• Simon.
• Rob.

1. If you’re wondering why Rob was watching the Christmas Cookalong, then it’s worth noting that his job at the Big British Castle involves watching lots of television. He was working on Christmas Day, the poor sausage. ↩

Bukowski Grill / Shoreditch, London

Rob

Oh my giddy aunt, where to start with this one.

Trust the entrepreneurs of Shoreditch to create a pop-up mall from things:

a) Michael Bay blows up in an average action sequence.

b) The unscrupulous use to move illegal immigrants about.

Shipping container locale aside, the feel of Bukowski Grill is weird: it’s got hints of a classic muted diner (the low hanging lamps, the Americana-heavy musak), but oddly crossed with a rustic feel. It was as if someone had bunged a short order cafe in the middle of the woods. Of Shoreditch.

Anyway.

Now, regular readers will know our opinions on the Open versus Closed bun issue. Well, when the cheeseburger arrived, we were confronted with a burger prep paradox: it was a closed bun. BUT, the pickles were on side AND there were no condiments inside. Completely unsauced.

As for the burger itself, the meat was pretty good, interestingly seasoned with what we though was a hint of porkiness. Bun was crunchy, and perhaps over toasted. The double gloucester cheddar was far too overbearing in the burger and overpowers the subtle flavour of the burger entirely. All condiments are hand made, and the mayo has a nice garlicky finish to it, but the only mustard on the premises they had was a pungent Dijon-esque horseradish variety. Odd choice for a burger joint that doesn’t serve roast beef.

Also slightly unsettling are the strange deli nuisances about the place: they offer a foccacia burger bun, which they’ll probably find doesn’t get ordered much at all. At least we hope not.

As for the other burger we ordered. Oh dear.

This motherfucker (legitimate swears, it’s called the Mother F) cut in half looked like a prop limb from a Saw movie.

We like our burgers rare to medium but one of these patties was raw to the point that it was still cold in the middle. You could see the fat. Despite some reservations, we persevered, under the impression that this was how was supposed to be. We stopped when nearing the middle. It was cold.

Now, disclaimer time, it was only their second day of opening. BUT, it was hardly super busy and they weren’t rushed off their feet (we were there around 3pm). The sous chef was eager to replace the burger for us, but due to time constraints, we had to leg it. So they were very kind in taking 50% off the already discounted bill (20% off for an introductory period). The service was great. The chips were nice.

Simon

What more to say.

Well, the boxes in the BOXPARK itself are adorable. Super cute.

As for the Bukowski Grill itself, the key point Rob hasn’t touched on, and one that is not apparent until you get into the place itself, is that this is a Spanish Burger Joint.

I have had one memorable Spanish burger, and that was at a branch of Ferran Adrià’s maladroitly named Fast Good in Madrid.

Once you embrace the Iberian heritage, a lot of the operational choices seem to make some kind of sense. At least a little bit.

The tomato on the burger is dehydrated (oven dried they call it). The brioche bun (I also balked at the focaccia option) is perfectly fine, but arrives completely unsauced. The mayo is an a squeezy bottle. The homemade ketchup is in a Heinz bottle. The aforementioned mustard is completely unsuitable and in a jar. There was also some chutney or something, for no discernible reason.

Now, the cheeseburger itself was perfectly satisfactory. Relatively unfussy. A solid C+. The beef is cooked in a baby Josper grill. An adorable thing itself, but not particularly well suited to cooking a burger. You get better results from a flat-top, and considering they’re not serving steaks, this seems like an expensive and unsuitable arrangement. It also means the cheese can’t be cloched. Combine that with a dense, heavy cheddar and a burger already lacking in wetness, it doesn’t come together well.

I won’t labour further on the poisonously undercooked Mother F. They were apologetic enough at the time and I’m sure they’ll sort their Josper timings out.

What with burger competition increasing week to week in London, I don’t think we’ll be back.

Afterword

Charles Bukowski is one of my favourite authors, and as a result I was hoping that the style and ethos of his work would be reflected in this place. Apart from the old school typewriter font menus (Bukowski fact - he used knackered portable Underwood typewriters in his early correspondence and writing), it isn’t. At all. Sad times.

• Rob.

Hawksmoor Guildhall / Guildhall, London

“It feels odd saying that you should visit a steakhouse to sample the pastry chef’s baking.”

Hawksmoor introducing breakfast as a permanent fixture at their new Guildhall location is smart. I’ve already spent a few hundred words on how damn smart they are, so let’s look at the actual food.

Chemex

Smart. Looks grandiose. Unusual to find too, since most places will happily charge you £3-a-pop on coffee, to the extent you’ll only have one, and then leave feeling under-caffeinated. Chemex is smart. A word of warning though, it certainly doesn’t stay warm for long.

The H&K muffin

Evil genius. There are two eggs in there. It has the same cheese/starch/meat combo hit of a McMuffin, but does it without the dirt. It’s £8.50. That’s a bargain.

Eggs Benedict

The ability to deliver a good eggs benny is the yardstick I’ve long used to rank restaurants in order of breakfast ability. Keeping a good hollandaise going is tough. It demonstrates skills. It’s also something you’re rarely arsed to make from scratch at home. Again, it’s perfectly executed here. One of the best I’ve had in the UK, especially if, like me, you like your hollandaise nice and vinegary. The quality of the ham helps elevate it too.

Marmelade French Toast

A small portion, but it’s rich. Light, fluffy but with expansive qualities. I’m not a marmelade guy at all, but the dish maintains a sweet and citrussy thrall, with just enough sugar. Mrs D felt it slightly underdone, but that’s just how I like it. How did they know. Etc. etc.

Scotch Pancakes with bacon

The difference here is the maple syrup is proper and that these are scotch pancakes. They’re not buttermilky American pancakes. Think dropscone and add some more lemon. Nice.

Doughnuts. Baked Goods.

The secret weapon. Right up there with the very, very best. It feels odd saying that you should visit a steakhouse to sample the pastry chef’s baking.

The Point of it All

If you’ve been putting off visiting Hawksmoor due to wallet restrictions, then my advice is book a table for breakfast and go for it. You can spend £15-20 per head and get some of the best morning food in the capital. Keep away from the steak and you’ll be fine. I’m sure the steak and eggs are lovely, but they’re not going to be as special as these Britished-up takes on American breakfast classics.

Be sure to check out the breakfast gallery for pictures of all of the above

and then have a quick read of our essay on why Hawksmoor are so fricking smart.

• Simon.

Hawksmoor

Elliot's Café / Borough Market, London

So Rob is back from the West coast tour and while we wait for him to compile the epic list of dive bars, food trucks and various Denny’s locations he visited, here’s a little write-up of Elliot’s in Borough Market.

I’ve been keen on Elliot’s ever since they ran a highly celebrated pop-up in Victoria Park’s Pavilion Cafe. Now it’s open, Borough Market finally has a restaurant that is correctly positioned. Roast is too sartorially aware and posh. Applebee’s is too dirty. Black & Blue is grossly misplaced, looking like a cavernous, empty, shiny insult to the neighbouring Ginger Pig. I never went to the Oyster place. The sushi restaurant is uninviting. None of the pubs serve anything remotely edible. This could well be the Market’s first proper restaurant that feels like it actually belongs there.

Borough is a food enigma, and over the last few years has begun to spiral into a joke what with the former MD being a tit, the rampaging tourism, the neverending rail bridge build, booting out great traders and the overall quality of available produce being a bit embarrassing. It is a place of queues and disappointed tourists chewing on disappointing takeaway sandwiches. I worked next to Borough for nearly two years, and watched this steady, gradual decline happen right infront of me. I saw legions of sandwich-chewers wondering what the fuck all the fuss was about. Any small town market across the Channel makes Borough look like the preening, over-praised street-bauble it really is.

So I was excited to go back for the first time in months to see what Elliot’s had done. Maybe they’d captured the essence of what it used to be and had made good on their mission of uncomplicated, good food using market traders to source ingredients.

We ordered burgers. They took about 25 minutes to arrive. At the time of writing, they are only available at lunchtime. They come served with shoestring fries, which I left most of. Shoestrings can be amazing, but these were like a plateful of the broken bits you get in the bottom of a bag of McCoy’s. Hard to eat.

They were also accompanied by a few slices of pickled cucumber. I would prefer a proper dill pickle, but can get behind the sentiment. There was also an excellent homemade spicy ketchup.

As for the burger, it’s not as revelatory as others are suggesting. The beef is excellent quality and very tasty. The olive oil bun is the best thing on the plate. Soft, yet solid enough to prevent any spillage. The cheese is salty and posh, and therefore not quite melted properly, and I think there are some onions in there too. My main complaint is the lack of saucing. After a lacklustre first half, I emptied the remainder of the aforementioned spicy ketchup, and the whole thing improved immeasurably. Had there been a mayonnaise in that bun, and perhaps some mustard to wake up the beef, I think this could be a real contender as a top London British burger. Bread nerds should certainly sample the bun: it’s really excellent.

I think Elliot’s is lovely. Borough does finally have a restaurant that matches its aesthetic, and everything else on the short, simple menu sounded great.

I think they’ve succeeded with everything they were trying to do and I hope the rest of the area can start to meet this new standard.

• Simon

• Elliot’s serves cheeseburgers on weekday lunchtimes.

[CLOSED] Harlem Drug Store / Clerkenwell, London

How übertrendy is the name, right? It’s like it should be perched somewhere on Shoreditch High Street, Having crazy faux-Corner Shop sign outside, shabby-chic diner housed inside…

It’s not. And it doesn’t.

It’s clear that this place used to be something like a Thai restaurant – the sharp, dark wood interior, the neatly dressed tables - after doing minimal research, we were wrong, it was Malaysian. I’m guessing it’s still owned by the same people, who are now attempting to cash in on the success currently enjoyed by Byron et al.

To say we felt mildly disconcerted walking in would be fair, and the service that followed achieved the same feeling: the Diet Cokes we ordered came in wine glasses, and cost three pounds (Like, isn’t that what WINE by the glass costs?) The fries came in a tiny almond-shaped boat dish, probably used for side orders of vegetables in the previous incarnation. The ketchup and mustard came in soy sauce dishes.

The burgers we ordered were properly enormous, sizable hunks of meat. Sadly, the taste was as weird as the décor; the meat that soft, melt-in-the-mouth quality you want, but it was like it had been boiled instead of cooked on a grill. Kind of watery, it was in no way seared on the outside, giving it no texture.

The additions to the patty, what we thought were garlic and tarragon, were too overpowering and left a slightly undesirable after taste. And the bun (it’s like we’re ALWAYS going on about the buns) was just an oversized crusty bap which required some battling with the gnashers, with no real reward.

To give them their due, they clearly want to give customers a good burger eating experience. But they need to change a few things to make that happen:

-They need to buy a griddle first off, cos I’m pretty sure I saw the burgers being cooked in a frying pan – we were the only people in there, imagine trying to cook burgers that way with a full gaff.

-They need to deck the place out so it actually feels appropriate eating burgers ‘n steaks there.

In the meantime, I’d recommend going to the Betsey Trotwood next door and getting shitfaced instead. Sorry HDS.

• Rob.

Harlem Drug Store

Next to the Betsey Trotwood on Farringdon Road

London