Fay Maschler: What landed on my plate

By Fay Maschler

I will always remember the thrill of going to Hakkasan in 2001 when it opened in Hanway Place, a ramshackle side street linking Tottenham Court Road to Oxford Street. Bewilderingly but bewitchingly the basement of a drab industrial building revealed a soft, scented, seductive haven designed by Christian Liaigre serving precise and provocative Cantonese food. Creator was Alan Yau who had already changed the restaurant game in London with the opening of Wagamama and went on to elevate dim sum (more Christian Liaigre) at Yauatcha in Soho. Yau had discovered Chee Hwee Tong, Hakkasan launch chef, at The Ritz Carlton Hotel in Singapore. Years later after lots of money changing hands Wagamama, Hakkasan and Yauatcha became global brands and Tong was gone. Alan Yau, having taken time out to train to be a monk, is now a tech-entrepreneur. Chee Hwee Tong has returned to London at the recently opened Gouji just off Trafalgar Square. A new ambitious Chinese restaurant with the presence of Tong is something I can't, won't and don't resist. With curvaceous embroidered velvety banquettes (beautiful), pale leather booths and views into the glazed kitchens the surroundings set the style for inventive, luxurious, quirky – but at the same time fundamentally authentic – cooking. There are various menus at different price points, some dizzying, but Marina and I choose à la carte wanting dim sum (it is lunchtime) but also to wander down other avenues. Iberico char siu bao and Shanghai xiao long bao are laudable. Marina makes the point that colouring har gau the sort of blue reminiscent of a loo flush with a cistern block isn't perhaps the obvious way forward, but it is just one more way of spinning. Presentation is a significant part of the pleasure and the delectable Angus tenderloin beef with black pepper sauce arrives nestled on a sort of ceramic duvet. A delicate pastry basket looking like the outcome of an explosion in a prawn cracker factory contains great balls of salt and pepper squid stuffed with minced prawn. There is so much else, so much temptation. Peking Duck of course, but also a whole menu devoted to duck. Staff are delightful. Do consult expert bar manager Jamie Rowe about cocktails and wine pairings. By the way Gouji is apparently said a bit like goji, as in the berry. Given the steep investment, the prices and the probable clientele we think Gucci the more appropriate pronunciation.

gouqi-restaurants.co.uk

Pressed to name my favourite London restaurant, I protest, then self-importantly deem the action invidious and finally come up with a small bundle so as not to seem unhelpful. Brat and Brat at Climpson's Arch always appear on this list. I have been a fan of Tomos Parry's Basque-influenced wood-fired cooking since I first encountered it eight years ago at Kitty Fisher's in Shepherd Market. Parry moved on to open Brat in Shoreditch and then at Climpson's Arch in London Fields. Now happily there is a Seafood Brat promised for Soho this summer. Two of Parry's chefs – Ben Allen and Ed Jennings – backed by owners of Camden Town's Jazz Café have recently converted what was The Oxford pub in Kentish Town into The Parakeet. It is their manor and an area I can find without resorting to sat nav. The wood-panelled interior where salvaged stained-glass contrasts with bold oil-painted portraits is strikingly handsome. An open kitchen reveals continued commitment to cooking over fire and the blackboard menus offer what you might call food for thought. Take for example, as Scott and I did, spider crab croquettes; grilled lettuce and shrimp head butter; wood-grilled leeks and pecorino sauce and smoked mushrooms. The outstanding dish of the evening is spatchcocked (can you say that about a fish?) sea bream spritzed with vinegar as it is grilled over embers as happens to turbot at Brat (by the way a colloquial name for that king of fish). It is superb, top of the class, and gallantly and appropriately accompanied by piperade (a spicy stew of peppers and onions), our choice of side dish. It is also saluted by what we drink, an intricate Colterenzio-Lafoa 2019 Chardonnay from the Alto Adige. Parakeet: a praiseworthy and convivial addition to the area. You might not say that about those little green birds that flit about, possibly descendants of the pair released by Jimi Hendrix in Carnaby Street in the 1960s.

theparakeetpub.com

At the Sondheim Theatre in Shaftesbury Avenue adjacent to Macellaio RC Soho they are showing Les Misérables. My friend Jo, my sister Beth and I are in fact Les Joyeuses at the prospect of a night out up West featuring Piedmont Fassona beef. Macellaio means butcher and Roberto Costa, owner of the restaurant group now numbering six outlets, was in that trade. His belief that every part of the animal should be utilised is most satisfactorily navigated throughout our dinner. First we meet the raw beef displayed on white napkins, not exactly shaking hands but hearing about provenance and cuts with the help of an enthusiastic member of staff, a beef devotee. We share a tartare made with extra-lean fillet that has the lowest fat content contributing an inherent sweetness that dices with the spicing. Just in case we are missing unctuousness a candle made from beef tallow burns and melts and provides a dip for bread. Ravioli of fresh pasta is described on the menu as enclosing slow-cooked beef chin, but shin is what is meant. We could have chosen tongue. The sauce strengthened with red wine is notable. T-bone Fassona steak, boldly charred on the outside, pink within, is rightly crowned with a silver cloche. It needs only its juices as sauce and we turn with a mild sense of virtue signalling to a verdant assembly of garden peas with mint. Signor Costa's appreciation of fine ingredients – there is also beef from Ireland and the Lake District on offer – will be further displayed when self-explanatory Fish Game opens in Canary Wharf this month.

macellaiorc.com/soho

My morals around restaurant PRs are looser than they used to be. Indeed a few of my prized friends trade in that biz which after all these years of reviewing is not entirely surprising. Hugh Smithson-Wright works from his dining room table or anyway somewhere in his flat and concentrates on a few clients to whom he gives tailor-made attention. Self-described as ‘Officially the gayest man on Twitter’ Hugh enjoys the company of women of a certain age, some of whom he refers to as Mum. I soon put a stop to that. He now calls me Sis. Hugh invited a bevy of us to the new Mexican restaurant Zapote in Shoreditch. It was lunch on a Saturday, my favourite mealtime of the week. The partners in this rather bold venture – it is a hangar-like space with a somewhat chequered history – are chef Yahir Gonzalez and restaurateur Tony Geary who met when both were working for the Aqua group. I also remember Tony well from his stint at Mourad Mazouz and Pierre Gagnaire's Sketch where he was a notably genial presence. For both chaps it is their first independent venture. Hugh is wearing a long-sleeved T-shirt in a patchwork of many colours which I realise match almost perfectly the mural on the back wall. Honestly, he just can't do enough for his clients. He guides our ordering from the list of tacos, tortillas, tostadas and quesadillas which range in price from £6-29 with a lot of choice at the cheaper end of the ladder. Native Mexican corn is used in the flatbreads (tortillas) made daily. We laydees (and Hugh) like nibbling on wild mushroom and oxtail quesadillas while exploring the salient role of tequila and mezcal in cocktails. Rather dishy José-Miguel is our guide. The five of us then embark on a thorough menu tasting. Highlights include roasted guineafowl with hoja santa (Mexican pepperleaf) and a peanut-based mole sauce; seabass aguachile (chilli water) with fennel, dill and cucumber; an octopus tentacle burnished on the open flame curved protectively around pasilla chilli and a cooling pipian verde; scarlet prawn tostada with tamarillo and crispy Iberian ham; yellowfin tuna and spicy crab tostadas and a soft landing on coal-roasted sweet potato with chipotle mayo. Gonzalez from the city of Aguascalientes in the heart of Mexico brings to London a delectable version of traditions quite often traduced.

zapote.co.uk

Six feet two, eyes of blue, tattooed from head to foot – actually not on his head and I have never seen his feet bare – my friend Scott Collins, Chief Eating Officer (his description) of MEATliquor stands out among the frocks – frocks is the precise word – at the party for the new King's Road RIXO shop even more strikingly than the brilliant idea of having a cocktail bar within the store. This haven is an offshoot of Smokey Kudu Bar in Peckham run by the talented restaurateurs Amy Corbin and Patrick Williams. After a Braai Negroni and an appraisal of the beautiful girls draped about we set off for dinner at No. Fifty Cheyne, owner Sally Greene's re-incarnation of Cheyne Walk Brasserie. An unusually opulent, seductive, velvety riverside pub, which pals who watch it tell me crops up in Made in Chelsea, it is extra fortunate in having a gifted chef in the shape of Iain Davy Smith. As is not unusual these days an open grill is at the heart of the menu but I am electrified by the long list of side dishes that kicks off with seared foie gras and includes fresh peas with pea purée, minted jellies and milk crumble. The latter so clever, so delectable. It is possible to compose a meal just weaving through the list but Scott uses as his main course starting point three grilled Argentinean red prawns. Whoppers they are. My choice of main course is a tranche of roasted wild turbot with fennel and white asparagus, peas (loving peas), confit shallot and broad beans with Champagne and caviar sauce. This follows on from white crabmeat and white bisque fettucine – almost a soufflé, arguably a foam – with Amalfi lemon zest and basil pesto. We drink white Burgundy. It has been a highly satisfactory evening.

fiftycheyne.com

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