Every week, there are seven restaurant reviews published in the national press, as well as one in the London-only Evening Standard. As a group, Britain’s small band of national restaurant critics have the time, appetite and most importantly the expense account to enable them to reflect what’s going on in the UK’s restaurant scene and capture current dining trends in real time in a way that pretty much no one else can (now online, guides like Michelin and Good Food Guide are able to be much more fleet of foot, but the national press still have the edge).
But who has time, or money (think of the paywalls) to read eight restaurant reviews every week? Me, that’s who. So I’m going to give you, my fellow restaurant obsessed chums a potted version of the lot so you can keep up with what’s going down on the UK dining scene. I’ll attempt to draw some conclusions from it all but the newsletter is mainly intended as (hopefully) humorous entertainment that will also poke a little gentle fun at the critics themselves and have a rant about my most hated food writing cliches along the way too.
The Reviews
Giles Coren, The Times
Tendril/The Ritz- both in London
Who but the ever-controversial Coren could get away with imagining that the target audience of the ‘mostly vegan kitchen and bar’ Tendril as ‘Tall, slim fashionny Bond Street types. Got jobs of a sort — styling, media planning, PR — but the long game is to marry a hedgie, live in Somerset, three dogs, five children, throw charity dinners, maybe write a trashy novel one day but probably not’ and, alternatively ‘old-skool, hair-shirted, Brighton-dwelling, nose-ring vegan, with a folderol of ancillary sub-Marxist woo-woo fetishes (CND, Peta, PLO, USSR, LGBTQIA2S+…) up her hand woven hessian sleeve’.
But just when you’re thinking to yourself ‘should I even be reading this’ (or maybe you’re thinking, ‘this is funny as fuck’. What was I thinking? You’ll never know), Coren throws in some top food knowledge by comparing pastry cases served as an amuse bouche to ‘“kuey pie tee” of Peranakan cuisine’ and uses the word ‘gallimaufry’ for the first time ever, to my knowledge, in a restaurant review. Who knows, maybe everyone uses it and I haven’t really been concentrating, (don’t) write in and let me know.
For some unknown reason, the review ends with a report about a family meal at The Ritz when Coren had a jolly old time with family which he paid for and didn’t put on Times expenses claim. Quite charming, but utterly baffling. Maybe it means he can write it off as a business expense?
Best line: ‘baked brie on truffle toast with pistachios, which was rich and bummy’
Worst line: ‘a big pat of mushroomy squish, all just humming with meaty mushroominess’
Did the review make me want to book a table: No
Grace Dent, The Guardian
Fish Shop, Ballater, Aberdeenshire
You can be pretty much guaranteed a fun read with Grace Dent’s column, which is important as most readers will either never make it to the restaurant under review, or have no intention of ever visiting and are just reading to pass the time (that applies to all review columns apart from Jimi Famurewa’s who is writing for a London-based audience that are actively seeking to be first on the block at the hottest new openings). Take for example the opening paragraph: ‘I am weary of fishy tales dreamed up by marketeers, promising “locally sourced” swimming things cooked by allegedly highly trained poissoniers. I’ll translate: “We will lug some Honduran prawns out of the deep-freeze and serve them with mayo mixed with ketchup. Please overlook the decor, which comprises shelfloads of nautical tat from Dunelm.”’ See, that was fun, wasn’t it?
The remainder of the review reads a little like a tarted up press release with lots of detail about the interior design and the various menus on offer. The description of the meal feels a little like a run through of the menu with added adjectives; lobster taglierini has a ‘kick of chilli’ and ‘packs a punchy heat’. Puzzlingly, the mild and delicate anise scented herb chervil somehow provides a ‘base note’ to the lobster but, you know, Dent ate it and I didn’t. Nevertheless, you do get the idea of what the restaurant is like and there’s enough info to allow readers to decide if they’d want to eat there themselves.
Best line: ‘heartwarming places such as Fish Shop are a rarer sight than mermaids’ feet these days’
Worst line: ‘ a dreamy, creamy chowder’
Did the review make me want to book a table: Mmm, maybe, if I happened to be in Aberdeenshire
Tim Hayward, FT
Frenchette, New York
For some unspecified reason Hayward is in New York this week which doesn’t really help with this newsletter’s theme of taking a look at the current state of the UK restaurants scene. Oh well. There are plenty of precedents from other critics for this sort of thing so it’s not completely from out of left field, but I do wonder what the value is of covering overseas restaurants in a British newspaper, and also what the travel desk might think about it.
He’s hunting down duck and chips at fashionable Tribeca restaurant Frenchette and along the way, much to his surprise, encounters great service and friendly people everywhere he goes.
Although I didn’t visit the same restaurants as Hayward, I did experience similarly exceptional customer service on a very recent trip to New York. There was generally a very high level wherever we went, apart from the lady at the till at Epicerie Boulud in the Oculus who was a bit curt and grumpy. I soon forgave her when I bit into the incredible almond croissants they sell there. The coffee was good too.
What I didn’t experience was the reasonable yellow cab drivers Tim benefitted from. The cab we got from JFK had a smashed windscreen, badly dented fender and a maniac behind the wheel. Apart from being really fucking expensive (we didn’t realise that the flat fee only applies if you are going into Manhattan, it was on the meter to Park Slope where our airbnb was) the ride was pretty terrifying, although the driver was perfectly friendly and chatty.
I also can’t say I’ve shared his bad experiences as a lone diner in London. On two separate recent occasions, I was treated like royalty as a table for one. I should add that the meals were in two of the best restaurants in London where you would expect nothing less, but it’s rare that I end up on a shitty table (The Melusine excepted where I had a front row view of the wash up, boxes of beer and the back door where staff congregated to chat. Bloody good food though).
There’s some funny lines in the review (see below), the use of the word ‘Bedizen’ (quite possibly another first in a restaurant review), a mangled quote from the Rubaiyat of Omar Khayaam and a reference to an M67 grenade, which doesn’t quite work but tells you a lot about the sort of person Hayward is. You certainly won’t find that sort of combination in anyone else’s reviews. I didn’t really understand why the idea of duck and chips sent him into ‘glandular meltdown’ or how he knew it would be ‘superb’, but you know, it’s only a restaurant review, so let’s just go with it.
He did however hit on what appears to be something of a trend in New York at the moment and that is spendy duck dishes. I had a similar-ish experience to Hayward’s by dining at lunchtime at the brilliant Torrisi where the signature duck alla Mulberry is only available in the evenings. We nearly made it to Francie in Brooklyn for their incredible-looking 30 day aged duck and to Olmsted, also in Brooklyn, where the duck trend kicked off a few years ago but ended up too knackered after walking about 10 miles a day to move off the sofa so we missed out.
Hayward writes extremely well, the review was fun to read and it made me wish I was back in New York, although I’ve been wishing that since the minute we landed in Gatwick.
Best line: ‘I haven’t seen a breast that bronzed since back in the days when the ex-governor of California used to take his shirt off for a living.’
Worst line: ‘In Manhattan today, as God is my witness, they take you to the best two-top in the house.’ There is nothing actually wrong with this line, it’s just the appropriation of restaurant-insider lingo which I find jarring. And yes I know Hayward worked in restaurants in America years ago, but he doesn’t now does he? Rayner has also been guilty of this type of thing.
Did the review make me want to book a table: Yes
Jay Rayner, The Observer
Gloriosa, Glasgow
This week, we find Rayner in good old Glasgee, as those of us who have visited three times in our entire lives love to call the place. ‘Right now in Glasgow the good things are at Gloriosa’, he proclaims, because that’s what Rayner does. He also writes short sentences. Lots of them. That is also what he does. For example, he says that chef Rosie Healey ‘has a way of doing things. She uses vinegars and general acidity with care. As with that bread, she knows how to salt. She knows how to feed’ and ‘The bar knows how to mix a daiquiri. They also do a serious Old Fashioned. These are virtues’ - short sentences and proclaiming, jackpot!
It is of course not an intrinsically bad way of writing (don’t bother mentioning Hemmingway. We know), but it does feel a bit like tablets of stone being sent down from on high; a gastronomic sermon. He also gets a bit Shakespearian at times. You can almost hear dear, dear Kenny Branagh intoning, ‘There is once more a whole globe artichoke, here generously drenched with a brilliant green chive butter, as though draped in the very essence of chlorophyll’ from centre stage of the Wyndham’s Theatre.
Overall though, it’s upbeat and gives the reader enough good reasons to put Gloriosa on their to-do list if they happen to be heading in the restaurant’s direction. Proclaim it from the mountaintop, it’s a decent review.
Best line: ‘We have a plate of bulbous radishes, as shiny and red and promising as newly polished Christmas baubles.’
Worst line: ‘I am saying hello to an old friend and I am giving them a hug in the only way I know how: with my gob.’
Did the review make me want to book a table: Yes
William Sitwell, The Telegraph
Brooklands, London
Sitwell has popped into multi Michelin-starred chef Claude Bosi’s new gaff at the top of the recently launched Peninsula Hotel. He makes some pertinent observations about the food although at times does fall into the trap of listing menu items with a few desultory adjectives attached, ‘Sharp triangles of tartlet filled with burnt leek mayo; coronation chicken mousse with chicken-liver ice cream; tomato tacos with fermented plum; a custard of smoked kipper… all prepared and presented with absolute precision, and fascinatingly fabulous’ is hardly earth shatteringly insightful is it?
Sitwell hints at being spotted by the restaurant staff, but doesn’t come right out and say it, ‘Eschewing the tasting menus, we went à la carte, knowing the kitchen wouldn’t resist lobbing other dishes at us, left right and centre. Which they did’. Although you have to expect telly faces like Sitwell, Coren, Rayner and Parker Bowles to be spotted when they are out working, it would be nice for context to know what they paid (claimed on expenses) for and what was sent out as a freebie and if the treatment they received in anyway affected their overall opinion of wherever it is they are reviewing. In this case we just have to guess.
Best line: ‘Most of the dishes leant towards a surprising arc of tartness, more bitter than sweet. Which I like and admire.’
Worst line: ‘It worked, like a duel between two heroes that ends, unusually, in a happy draw.’
Did the review make me want to book a table: Yes
Tom Parker Bowles, Sunday Mail
The Ritz, London
Tom Parker Bowles is the King’s stepson. Does that make him a Prince? Is that how these things work? Whatever, he’s well connected enough to have me sent to the tower so I’m not going to say anything negative about him. That’s not fair is it? That’s life in today’s Britain I’m afraid, now eat your gruel and shut the fuck up.
Like Coren, this week Parker Bowles has turned up at The Ritz. That’s odd. Were they there together? They are mates. Coren very recently posted a picture in his Insta stories of the pair of them together in The Devonshire pub’s dining room so it’s possible that they were there together at The Ritz, although neither of them mentions it, so just a coincidence probably.
It’s also probably just a coincidence that it’s been announced that Spencer Mertzger, the prodigiously talented head chef during whose tenure the restaurant finally won its Michelin star has jumped ship. Apparently he’s going to be head chef of a new restaurant from J…, sorry, I don’t think I’m allowed to say that just yet. But anyway, it’s a good time to be shoring up your reputation with a few positive reviews in the national press isn’t it? I should bloody well say so.
Luckily, Parker Bowles fucking loves the place. He couldn’t be more effusive. To be fair, I felt the same when I went, although Mertzger was still cooking then. The room is ‘magnificently gaudy’ the kitchen has ‘skill, art and precision…hewn from Japanese steel’, the service is like a ‘Patek Philippe Grandmaster Chime’ (does he get a free one if he mentions the name in full?) crab meat is ‘exhilaratingly pure’ and scallops are ‘quiveringly fresh and winsomely sweet’.
You can’t help but get swept up in Parker Bowles enthusiasm, especially as he might otherwise send the Beefeaters round (‘I said I loved Tom’s review, now for God’s sake, put the sword away’). It’s like he’s never eaten anywhere posh before, which is quite a trick to pull off when your Sunday roast is served at Buck House.
Best line: To walk into The Ritz Restaurant is to abandon the real world and disappear into a heady rococo riot of naked nymphs, gilded sea gods and lasciviously ruched drapes.’
Worst line: ‘the first chew of warm bread, slathered with the creamiest of butter’. The word ‘slathered’ gives me the ick.
Did the review make me want to book a table: Oh yes.
Charlotte Ivers, Sunday Times
Salam, Middlesbrough
In her debut column a few weeks ago, Ivers stated that, ‘Restaurants tell us a story about ourselves: how we got to where we are and how we live now. This is what I want to do with this column: to find places that tell those stories and bring them to you’, which is nice. So, what story does Charlotte want to tell us this week? Well, it’s the one about Rod Liddle in the Ethiopian joint in Middlesbrough. You weren’t expecting that were you? No one expects Rod Liddle in an Ethiopian restaurant in Middlesbrough.
First though we have wade through quite a lot of stuff about how the bill was presented on the back of an envelope which made claiming expenses tricky and how the menu prices don’t match the figures on the bill and how they didn’t even see the menu, even though she had a picture of it on her phone, and.. maybe I need to go back and read the review again. But you get the idea, it’s one of those places. You know the ones (wink wink). You can laugh about them over a cocktail or two with your chums and say things like ‘but it was just so cheap, and they were incredibly friendly’.
Anyway, it’s all mad fun and no one gets what they ordered but it’s all amazing, and Rod compares the injera flatbread to his ‘grandmother’s wash cloth’ and everyone eats with their hands (something else to tell the chums over cocktails).
It’s a review that should warm the cockles of any Vittles writer’s heart (maybe?) so that’s brownie points in the bank and it was properly up north too. Back of the net for regional coverage. It makes you wonder what other stories Ivers has to tell. Nadine Dorries in a Sudanese in Barking, Chris Packham in a Surinamese in Peckham, Dan Wooton in a Mongolian in Bookham, Owen Jones in a…well, you get the idea.
Best line: ‘an orangutan trying to decipher the Rosetta Stone’
Worst line: ‘The chicken falls off the bone. I know, sorry: biggest cliché in food writing. But, it really does’
Did the review make me want to book a table: It’s in Middlesbrough, what do you think?
Jimi Famurewa, The Evening Standard
Solis, London
Solis is, Famurewa tells us, a ‘self-consciously nostalgic Ibero-Latin grill’. If there’s one type of Ibero-latin grill that I love, it’s those self-consciously nostalgic ones they have these days. Who knows, maybe there are loads of them in London now. If you follow the always excellent Hot Dinners you’ll know that approximately 1273 new restaurants open every single day in London, and that’s just in Dalston, so it’s highly likely that a good proportion of those are Ibero-Latin grills of the self-consciously nostalgic variety.
But, if you’re a sad sack like me who doesn’t currently, or never has lived in a cupboard in a trendy London borough, you might be thinking to yourself, “What the actual fuck is a self-consciously nostalgic Ibero-Latin grill when it’s at home in Battersea?”, which is actually where Solis is. Well, if you’d just calm down a minute, Jimi might tell you. ‘It exemplifies an ascendent new trend of gently louche, meat-and-potatoes menu conservatism that we might call Haute Basic.’ Got it? Clear now? Good. Oh, hold on a minute, it’s also apparently ‘a heartfelt tribute to the sorts of Portuguese chicken restaurants and South American parillas’ that co-owner and Lisbon-born chef Ana Gonçalves remembers from her youth. So does that mean Nandos is a self-consciously nostalgic Ibero-Latin grill too? I’m not sure but there’s no time to dwell on that because Gonçalves and co are about to apply their ‘signature flavour meticulousness’ on your ass in the form of ‘a mirrored, yolk-gold spill of piquant, Argentine “salsa golf”. I think that class is available at my local hot yoga studio.
It must be exciting, living in London, where you can pop to ‘a food hall is so vast…it feels like being hurled into a physicalised Deliveroo interface’, drink ‘wheel-greasing, mandarin Cognac sangrias’, eat ‘a gorgeously weighted version of gungey entrecôte sauce’ and appreciate the ‘simple egalitarian profundity’ of it all. Down here in Brighton, we just go out for dinner.
Best line: ‘Next came the grilled meat combination plates that can’t help but feel like Solis trundling its tanks onto the lawns of any affordable steak or piri piri purveyor you’d care to name.’
Worst line: ‘smoky succulence permeating griddled poultry’. The word ‘succulence’ is verboten, especially when used in conjunction with alliteration *shudders*.
Did the review make me want to book a table: I’ll need someone to explain to me what the hell is going on before I can make a decision.
What did we learn this week?
I’ve picked a rum old week to start this newsletter haven’t I? So let’s set aside the two (well one and bit) reviews of the old stager The Ritz that seems to have been reviewed for no apparent reason and the one in New York and see what we can draw from what’s left. There’s a good geographical spread covering London, the North and Scotland (two reviews in Scotland in the same week - has that ever happened before?), an excellent range of cuisine from Ethiopian to Ibero-Latin, French haute cuisine to casual vegan, seafood to Mediterranean and all of it apparently great. Basically, you can go anywhere, eat anything and you’ll have a great time. Hurrah, what a surprisingly positive message from a bunch of critics. On the face of it then, everything looks in fine shape. Just don’t read the hospitality trade press, or the business pages, or even read your own electricity bill for that matter…until next time, bon appetit.
I don't know why, but my brain read the line "Tom Parker Bowles is the King’s stepson" as "Tom Parker Bowles is the King’s tampon". Thought you ought to know.