Review: MEATmission, Hoxton

Pat Sharpe's mullet, Jose Pizzaro and mess

You cannot walk through Shoreditch/Hoxton with out being mesmerised by the plethora of bars, restaurants and entertainment venues clambering over each other for prominence.

 

The more graffiti and shanty-townish look to the venue, the better. Not since the Second World War has corrugated iron and oversized moustaches been so plentiful.

But amongst this sea of hipsters and innovative, sole trader start-ups there is a dichotomy developing.

The forerunners of the trendy diverse restaurant and bar movement are themselves expanding to take on more venues, locations, staff and power.

Not that I’m against this in any way, because those I speak of have earned their glory and their dosh through hard work and imagination.

But it is ironic that at the beating heart of the hipster movement, the trendsetters, are becoming exactly what they set out to oppose. But, holy cow, don’t they do it well.

 

Having eaten in MEATliquor Welbeck Street not long after its conception, I could never have imagined that we’d have more burger menus on London’s walls than in Elvis Presley’s portaloo.

The MEATliquor group alone now have sister restaurants in Covent Garden, Brixton, Leeds, Brighton, as well as designs on many more.

But unlike a recent trip to Byron that I would like to forget, the expansion of this popular concept continues to inspire and amaze.

The quality of MEATmission in Hoxton was apparent from moment one.

Normally walking into a darkened, eerie corridor with only the sounds of screams and the smell of meat wafting through the air would put me on edge but not here.

The cocktail bar, close seating, and atmosphere of frenzied fun hits you like a fog, and it doesn’t

leave until you do.

Syphoned off into a small private room that was still in touching distance of the bar and resonated the atmosphere, our group was seen to instantly and made to feel comfortable.

Craft beers, modern lagers and an exclusive list of cocktails help to take you from inquisitive to confident, though the £4.20 price of a 330ml can of Hobo can mount up. But still, you only live once.

Burgers as famous as footballers feature on the list – The Dead Hippie ^TM – as well as the classic spicy wings, slaws and all the sides as well as a few new 'dogs - an evolution from the original MEATliquor menu.

But I was intrigued by the new guest burger option.

“You don’t go to burger joints for sophistication, culture and European flamboyance”, I heard someone cry (for the purposes of this review).

Try telling that to the brains who brought in Tapas guru Jose Pizzaro to create his own burger. Genius.

Iberico spiced pork patty, topped with manchego cheese, jamon iberico, caremelised onions and Spanish alioli.

At £9.95 it was a tapas-infused, melt-in-the-mouth bargain. Falling apart like a Topman jacket, I almost asked the succulent burger to move in with me. Clearly the innovation continues.

For those that have never experienced MEATliquor or its sister venues, there are lots of trays, a limited amount of plates and cutlery, and a glut of kitchen towel. Imagine ITV’s Fun House meets Man Vs Food just without Pat Sharpe’s mullet or go-karts.

It’s messy but it’s brilliant.


And if you don't quite feel that you have pummelled yourself with meat enough, you can always try 'The Triple Chicken Challenge' – to devour the Dirty Chicken Burger, Buffalo Chicken Burger & Monkey Fingers in the quickest possible time. 

You have to be ready for fun, spillages and noise, but the key factors of good food, good service and a great atmosphere still apply. As does the obvious intent to keep evolving and creating new ideas.

The flavours and menu ideas are excellent, portion size is spot on and if you want heat, they can dish that out too.

MEATmission asks you to ‘go hard or go home’.

Where to find them: MEATmission, 14-15 Hoxton Market, N1 6HG. 020 7739 8212. 

Blog: Review - Byron Burger Kensington

Fads, mayonnaise, Larry David and penny farthings

Yoyos, Tamagotchi, Pogs. They all have one thing in common. They were a passing fad. They made millions of people happy. And they made millions.

There is a fad in the food trade at the moment, but whether or not it is passing remains a question. These booth seating, American food serving, truck stop diner reminding, junk food haunts are here in force.

That description sounds negative but it really isn’t. I love the ideas that are coming out.

Burger and Lobster, Patty and Bun, Duck and Waffle. Basically the key seems to be get two base ingredients, stick ‘em together and add frilly bits.

Simple but effective, and on the most part, bloody delicious.

I have been to Bubbledogs in Fitzrovia. It is genius. The simplicity, of putting a frankfurter in a bun then covering it in varying toppings making it a Mexicana, or a New Yorker is so simple. And it tastes good.

Stick a glass of Champagne in someone’s hand and it feels glamourous. Make them queue in the street and it feels exclusive. Execute the service well and the customers will relish the experience (excuse the bun, er pun).

A few years ago I ate at one of the originals, MeatLiquor, pointed out to me by someone with their hipster finger on the pulse. (Just to point out the same friend now has a really long beard, but I still love him).

Again MeatLiquor executed their no plates, finger muching, rough and ready occasion with class.

But there are only so many burgers you can eat in one life time and so picking up on the good fad restaurants is very important. Don’t waste your weekly carbs and meat allowance on one of the shit ones.

Unfortunately, this week I did. And I hope it wasn’t the moment that the fad reached saturation point.

I have heard so many good things about Byron Burger. In fact they must have been doing fairly well because they can boast 36 diners across London with a 37th soon to be opening in Holborn.

Popping out for a spot of lunch I used the website’s “nearest Byron” locater which lead me to Kensington High Street.

With the sniffery infused West London clientele to satisfy, I figured that this was probably going to be one of the better of the chain’s locations. It didn’t have the lights and whistles of the Hammersmith branch just up the road, but I wasn’t going to walk the extra mile for what should surely be the same offering.

It didn’t start well. Craft beers are all the rage, and places like Bubbledogs have tapped into that market, offering beers that are hard to track down anywhere else. So I chose the in-house Byron Lager.

“We don’t have the Byron Lager”, she says. I didn’t want to go all Larry David and so held back from asking where else I could possibly get a Bloody Byron Beer if not from Bloody Byron Burger.

I took on a small Peroni instead. Out comes a large one. Normally I wouldn’t quibble, but I was working and had to drive later.
They took it back.

The second attempt featured a small Peroni with a glass tumbler. The tumbler was battered and scratched to within an inch of its life. I actually don’t mind that, it shows use and character.

However, I don’t particularly like my tumblers with a side order of mayonnaise, despite its beautiful nouvelle cuisine-style smear down the side. Well at least I hope it was mayonnaise.

The home of the “proper burger”. A great sound byte. I am not sure if you can sue under the trade descriptions act, but there was nothing “proper” about it, unless by “proper” you mean proper similar to Wimpy.

To be fair, the actual meat patty was cooked well. But the refrigerator tinged bun, stalk end of a lettuce leaf and token tomato and onion slices were pretty pathetic. Oh and there’s the mayonnaise again.

Are they trying to fob hipsters and fad chasers into thinking that it’s just really trendy to be crap?

“Oh you will love it Gilligan, they serve it up on an already greasy piece of grease proof paper and there is open plan kitchen where you can watch the chefs carry a dirty table outside before picking up your plate and handing it to you. It’s just sooooo Shoreditch!”

From the picture you can also see a lonely gherkin, quartered length ways, (I guess that is arty), stuck on the side of the plate looking very sorry for itself. I was just grateful it didn’t have mayonnaise down the side of it as well.

I left there genuinely wishing I had got a Burger King. It would have been half the price and at least there, you already know that once you’ve ordered and eaten there will be feeling of melancholy and regret.

As I unchained my penny farthing, tied back my hair and put on my Morrissey record I couldn’t help but ponder – “Oh well, only 253 burgers left to eat then.”

Blog: Portion sizes, the Dalai Lama, John Candy and that Goldilocks dish

You could be eating all day and all of the night

We judge absolutely everything we see. How much is this? Is that good value? Could I get better? Should there be more?

Modern life is filled with the scrutiny and the constant reviewing of situations, products and services.

Sometimes, it’s nice to just step back from all the madness and think about the bigger things (touches his thumbs and forefingers together while looking at the sky).

Now I am not getting philosophical or anything, I am no Nietzsche (look him up, wink) or about to dye my clothes orange and shave my head. When I say “the bigger things”, that is literal, not theoretical – portion size.

I took in two meals in the past month that have both been of good quality, but left me feeling a little confused, questioning the very foundation of dinner-time appraisals.

The process of thinking started after a very good meal at the East Coast Dining Room in Tankerton, Whitstable. The beachside restaurant is somewhere I had eaten before – Review Here - and I had a rough idea what I could expect.

As with the majority of things in life, you get what you pay for– apart from with dentists and mechanics, those feckers will be judged at the pearly gates – but in general quality costs cash.

The East Coast Dining Room delivers on both quality of food, quality of service and general all-round goodness.

However, you do have to pay for the privilege. It’s not that it is overly expensive, although it’s not cheap either, but it does leave you wanting a little more.  Don’t get me wrong, I didn’t leave hungry but I didn’t leave full either. You might say that is irrelevant if you had a quality meal – and in the most part, I would doff my cap to them and agree.

Guinea fowl breast

• Pecorino custard, mushroom jelly, herb croutons, radish and cucumber salad £8
• Roast guinea fowl breast, confit leg, parmesan mash, sweetcorn fritter braised baby gems £18.50
• Lemon sole, pea sauce, rainbow chard, garlic gnocchi, pickled grapes £17.50

But portion size is a real sticking point.

Lemon sole

Some say that being left wanting more is no bad thing and guarantees the customer’s purchase of a desert or coffee.

It is also argued that NOT feeling rotund after a meal is a blessing.

And the more high-end restaurants might dispute that filling a plate to the brim is a sign of poor quality, lack of care or inadequate portion judgment.

But as the American style foods continue to grow in popularity on menus and in wacky concepts – see Bubble Dogs, Patty & Bun etc – should the varying portion sizes of UK restaurants come under closer examination?. 

We know how the yanks can be about the size of their feed, - See The Great Outdoors with John Candy and “The old 96er”.

You rarely have to ask an American to “speak up a little” neither do you have to ask if they’d like a side of ‘slaw or beans or onion rings. It’s a given.

So should we be scrutinizing portion sizes more closely?

It is a very difficult thing to do…. How can you judge a really good steak against a sushi dish. You can judge the quality, yes, but isn’t the object of eating to feel at least pleasantly full?

Though we enjoy it, we do eat to create energy, to be able to write ridiculous blogs about eating and creating energy.

Anyone else's head spinning more than a chav on a children's round-about?

This brings me to my next restaurant experience. The Woodford Bridge Country Club in Devon. 

Six of us sat down to dinner at Cromwell's Bar & Bistro, set in the middle of a field, with no expectations whatsoever.

The food was of very good quality, nothing swish or fancy, just tasty and wholesome. But not one of my party managed to clear their plate.

The beer battered cod was monstrous. – and could have easily been split into three pieces (as you can see from the picture it is bigger than a human arm). The burger was ludicrous and its ciabatta foundations were the width of the plate even before it was heaped with 6oz patty, pulled pork, smoked applewood cheddar, brie and salad.

The fish pie, featuring various white fish, prawns and potatoes came with a side of potatoes and more vegetables.

Maybe they are more used to hungry farmers coming into feast after a hard day’s work – I don’t know. But the portion size was large to the point of offensive. Needless to say we took doggy bags home – something I never normally have to do.

And it was modest in price.

I suppose the point I am trying to make is where do you draw the line. There is a definite correlation between size and price but I don’t know where or how it works or what the best combination is.

Once upon a time I would have thought, bigger portions, more expensive.

But with the refined cuisine of modern Britain – the normality has been turned upside down - it is usually the smaller portions that end up being more expensive.

But what happens to the correlation graph when the food is good, portions are massive and the price is low. My head is going to explode. Make your own mind up.

What would you rather have in front of you? One excellent partridge that may leave you hungry, or one average to good turkey that you definitely know will fill you for days?

The top critics will lambast a restaurant if they leave hungry, no matter how good the food is.

I guess it is just horses for courses. For some size is important, for others quality.  But as Goldilocks found out, you will pay handsomely for those dishes that are just right.

Review: Estrella Damm Tapas to death defying bus drivers

News of the world

We (the posh word for I) have entered a rich vein of form in the past month.

The leather belt that holds aloft my skinny britches has called for reinforcements in its struggle to contain the expanse of pasty skin gently beginning to push against it.

The rate we (again referring to me) are going, we may need the steel bottomed ambulance and International Rescue on stand-by in case we need to be cut free from our home.

 

Now just take a moment to imagine Scott and Virgil from Thunderbirds turning up on one of those Channel 4 documentaries “Half Ton Son” to free the poor colossus -  and let's move on.

No fewer than four establishments, that we can remember (there have actually  been quite a few more), have been visited.

And as Lloyd Grossman used to say in the good old days of MasterChef  “We’ve deliberated, cogitated and digested” exactly what was on offer in each.

First up was the pomp and ceremony of an evening meal at Eastwell Manor.

Set in the rolling hills of Kent, the mansion is now a hotel with spa, bars, golf course and very decent restaurant.

The menu is based on classical English and French cuisine, while the quiet and luxurious ambience was supplemented by the noise of Barons and Earls choosing from a lengthy wine list and a bloke tinkling the ivories in the corner.

I imagine that is what it would have been like at the captain’s table on the Titanic - just without Di Caprio, Winslett or that guy who used to go out with Kelly Brook (can you believe that happened - how did he manage that?).

Penguin clad service staff mill about while lots of “yes sir” and “yes madam” phrases are uttered.

The menu was a little pricey, but with the superb surroundings of the mansion and grounds, it wasn’t a surprise.

However, what was a surprise was the superb value of the Table d’Hote which offered three courses for £35.

As well as a complimentary home-baked bread roll and an amuse bouche, It featured the salmon, steaks, beef wellington, sea bream and more.

It was really, very good. But, just a quick tip, watch out for the changing set menu, a brief visit to their website since has revealed a less superior Table d'Hote offering. So pick your moment and then go for it. The views alone are worth a visit.

An event at the Four Seasons Hotel at Canary Wharf allowed me to sample their conference nibbles, although I was more interested in the miniature bottles of Scavi & Ray prosecco. Lunchbox sized bottles stuck with a straw (good idea) offered a light, fresh and fizzy beverage that you could drink all day – if you wanted to forget your weight problems.

But perhaps the most educational visit of the month was to the Hurlingham Club in Fulham for the Estrella Damm Tapas Congress.

We heard lectures from the likes of El Bulli legend Ferran Adria, the head chefs from the much celebrated ‘Tickets’ restaurant in Barcelona and Tapas maestro here in the UK, Jose Pizarro.

There were investigations into how tapas began, how it has evolved and where it is now. Not to mention a few trends that emerging for the future.

We were also treated to some “British Tapas” from Tom Kerridge and news that he will be opening another restaurant/pub in Marlow with a menu based around that very premise.

 

I was also happy enough to ask for a photo with the chef under the guise/lie of “it’s for my mum”. That felt low, until 10 minutes later when I got free tapas samples and an Estrella Damm goodie bag.

Note-to-self: Don't try to hide in the toilets in attempt to get into the Restaurant Awards that were taking place in the same building that evening. It will be embarrassing for both you and the "freshen-up" guy when he asks if you are "okay in there?".

My final excursion to an eatery this month was actually in Turkey – the country, not the festive poultry.

Let me first recommend the Olive Garden restaurant to anyone travelling to the Olu Deniz area of the country. It is a once in a life-time restaurant.

Probably because your luck will run out the next time you try to get to it.

Dug into the side of a mountain, perched on wooden stilts sits a restaurant to, quite literally, die for.

Our bus driver, decided it was probably a good idea to talk into his mobile phone while taking hairpin corners on roads without barriers, littered with rocks and goats, 500 feet up the side of a mountain with a sheer drop below.

On reaching the eatery, and promptly changing my shorts, we ordered local wine with a lunch of tzatziki with pitta breads, fresh salads and olives to start.

It was followed by a roasted aubergine stuffed with chicken in a spicy sauce and a sea-food pizza piled high with mussels, squid, crab and prawns.

The colours and flavours will stay with me for a long time. The vegetables and fruits were all sourced from their mountain-side allotment and tasted of sunshine.

On completion of our meal, we were ushered to a gazebo to sleep off our gastronomic experience while served with ice cold Effes beer.

The gazebo and the adjacent swimming pool (still on the wooden platform here) were free of charge and part of the Olive Garden Experience as we were told.

And it is an experience that I would implore others to enjoy – especially as we got a free hat for the journey home – whether that was to cover your eyes for the bus journey home or as free marketing I am still not sure.

In hind-sight, and The Bitterest Pill, is that if I had just walked to the Olive Garden it would have solved more than one of my problems. Damn it.