Roti King, Battersea Power Station

Many moons ago I made a short-lived attempt to do some shorter-form reviews of sandwich shops, street food joints, delis and the like, places that are perhaps noteworthy but for which the usual 1000+ words could be considered overkill. This resolution didn't last long, partly because I didn't find a huge number of sandwich shops worth writing about in London (though I'm open to suggestions) but mainly because it's surprisingly hard to shake the habit of writing 1000+ words in every blog post.

So let's see how I do with this one. Roti King Battersea is a purveyor of Malaysian street food - roti (bread) and kari (curry), rendang, the odd Malaysian/Indonesian dish like nasi lemak and nasi goreng, and a couple of Singaporean-style noodle dishes. They started life in a cramped basement spot round the back of Euston station, where the queues would often snake down the road of a lunchtime, so the prospect of being able to try their food without standing in the cold for a while beforehand was obviously quite appealing.

Thanks to the wild popularity of the new Battersea Power Station development, Roti King Battersea was almost full up even at 5pm on a Sunday afternoon, but fortunately they managed to squeeze us in (almost literally - tables are so close together it's like sitting in a tube carriage) and within a couple of minutes (service is attentive bordering on fanatical) we had ordered one each of the daal, fish and mutton karis and a plate of morning glory.

For this committed meat-eater, it was a happy surprise to discover that not only was the vegetarian dhal kari more than an equal in terms of intensity and complexity of flavour to the fish and mutton varieties, but that all 3 came with their own unique sauce - they hadn't just dumped the same liquid over the three different proteins. My favourite was, of course, the mutton, which had lovely tender chunks of slow-cooked sheep in a fantastic thick, rich, tomatoey sauce spiked with turmeric and chilli, but the other version boasted big chunks of soft white fish in a lighter, more fragrant (though still packing a hell of a chilli punch) sauce. And all three came with 2 generous bits of fluffy, fresh roti as light and as crisp as French pastry, which we were able to see being made fresh to order throughout the evening in the open kitchen.

Morning glory was not quite as accomplished as the plate we'd been served at Mien Tay the week before, being slightly on the chewy side, but still had plenty going for it, not least a nice umami-dense sauce made from shrimp paste, which clung to the frilly upper leaves and burst in the mouth quite nicely.

So yes, it would have been nice to have had a bit more elbow room, and the morning glory wasn't perfect, but the rotis were lovely, we had more than enough food, and the bill for 3 people (with jasmine tea and a lemonade) came to £53.55 including service. So we couldn't have wanted for much more, really. Roti King Battersea stands as proof that you can expand from a tiny basement spot in Euston to a multi-billion-pound Malaysian-backed development south of the river and not lose your heart, soul or sense of value. And for that, we should all be grateful.

7/10

Archway, Battersea Park

Firstly, I have a confession to make. Many years ago I was very kindly treated to lunch at the River Café in Hammersmith, and I didn't like it. I think I was mainly intimidated - by the well-heeled crowd, the scale and the power of that vast dining room and open kitchen, and yes, by the prices, astronomical figures seemingly chosen only to be as shocking as possible to anyone who wasn't a multi-millionare. I gave it a rather grumpy review, then vowed never to return.

Years later, though, I did go back. The River Cafe staff are given very generous discounts from time to time, and encouraged to bring along anyone they want to share the fun. So, curious to see if they - or indeed I - had changed over the years, I found myself taking an afternoon off and joining a staffer friend for lunch.

And I had the time of my life. Everything was briliant, from the atmosphere in that cavernous room to the friendly but extremely capable staff to the exquisitely tasteful and seasonal wood-grilled Italian food, it seemed to be the kind of place where it would be impossible not to enjoy yourself unless you had a giant wood-fired chip on your shoulder, and I felt incredibly stupid for having denied myself it all these years. And if you're thinking "well, he would like it as he wasn't paying", guess what - as soon as that lunch was over I made myself another booking in a couple of weeks' time and paid in full. And I had the time of my life all over again.

So what's all this got to do with Archway? Well, most obviously, it was set up by ex-River Cafe staff, and if nothing else the Hammersmith place has a fantastic track record of sending out its alumni to propagate fantastic pasta around the country. We have them to thank for such names as Sonny Stores in Bristol, Trullo in Islington, and the sadly-departed Zucca in Bermondsey, although we do also have them to blame for Jamie Oliver so the less said about that the better. Anyway, now SW11 has its own little slice of Tuscany-on-the-Thames, and on a wet Wednesday evening I headed down an unlikely dark alleyway underneath Battersea Park station to see if it could carry on the noble tradition.

From an attractively short and straightforward menu, first to arrive were flatbreads, fresh out of a wood-fired oven, one topped with leeks soaked in "brown crab meat butter" (that's poetry right there) and another with gorgonzola, figs and honey. In both, the bread was the star - full of life and crunch and comfort - and though I obviously preferred the one topped with "brown crab meat butter" (I mean, duh), they were both very impressive bits of baking. A good start.

But it was with the arrival of the first pasta dish that Archway really flexed its River Café muscles. Cavatelli with beef ragu was - and I'm not using these words lightly - completely and utterly perfect. Perfect pasta with a perfect bite, a perfect tomato-red wine sauce studded with rich ground beef, perfectly seasoned, perfectly served. Yes, you'd hope a modern Italian restaurant with such a pedigree should be able to knock out a decent bowl of pasta but this was clearly a world class bit of cooking, astonishingly good.

Equally good - and so yes, perfect again - was pappardelle with mushrooms, brown butter and sage, another heavenly combination of bouncy fresh ribbons of pasta, seasonal funghi and heady herbs all soaked in a silky buttery sauce. As a not-very-good cook myself, and particularly when it comes to fresh pasta, I find it hard to pinpoint exactly what sets the good pasta restaurants apart from the great, apart from the fact that some make me pleasantly surprised, and some make me with giddy with utter joy. Archway fits in the latter group.

Fregola "risotto" (fregola are little balls of pasta a bit like tapioca, but nicer obviously) was the base for a selection of fresh clams and mussels studded with just enough chilli to provide and nice buzz above the seafood. There's something incredibly satisfying about eating a forkful of fregola soaked in salty seafood broth, lighter than a risotto but packing the same flavour punch. Dangerously moreish.

As possibly one of the finest pasta restaurants in the country, you really don't need another reason to visit the place. But I'm happy to report that a giant butterflied mackerel was a great demonstration of Archway's skill with grilled fish. The mackerel itself was immaculate, with a dark, crisp skin holding a good amount of fat next to soft and perfectly-timed flesh, and though it would have been nice to have crunchy cubes of toast instead of soggy tomato-bread, the "panzanella" salad dressing was otherwise very nice.

Desserts were generous of portion and of flavour. The strawberry creme brulee was my own favourite, topped with chunks of steeped berries so full of summer colour they practically glowed. And although to this day we couldn't quite decide every ingredient that formed the "torta della nonna" (and completely forgot to ask at the time), the custard filling was expertly balanced by a nice delicate pastry crust. And that's probably all you need to know.

In the interests of this post not turning into a completely two-dimensional gush-fest, I feel duty-bound to point out two things I didn't quite get at Archway. Firstly, the wine list is presented in a font so miniscule, and the lighting in the room was so "romantic", that nobody on our table could read it, so we ended up just pointing at a price and hoping for the best. Fortunately, the Archway's choice of house white is as tasteful as the rest of their operation, so all ended well. Secondly, there are two identical unmarked doors off the main dining room; one leads to the toilets, the other to a store cupboard and office. So there's a potential problem there.

But I am nitpicking, and the fact is there's very little to fault about Archway. Service was friendly and enthusiastic, the room is nicely proportioned (although I think some would find the tables a little too close together, depending on your elbow-room requirements) and the vast open kitchen, stretching back three times as far as the dining room is long, as far as I could gather, is a wonderful focal point and endlessly entertaining as you watch bits and pieces being moved in and out of the wood ovens and grills. And at £64pp it's even at the lower end of the London 2023 restaurant budget spectrum. But never mind all that - just go and eat the pasta. Everything else is a footnote.

9/10

Evernight, Battersea

Knowing we would be having dinner at Evernight I thought aperitifs at Homeboy Battersea, just around the corner in the same building, would be a nice way to kick off the evening. I was at Homeboy a couple of years ago just after it had opened, was treated to a very decent burger and ice cold martini and left thinking that, well, perhaps this weird overdeveloped bit of Legoland Embassyville with its floating swimming pools and Thamesview gyms with floor-to-ceiling windows was worth the occasional visit after all. I've always had a soft spot for Darby's, too, also nearby.

But a strange thing happened when I tried to Google the Homeboy location - it kept redirecting me to Homeboy Islington (also worth visiting, on Essex Road), the Battersea branch seemingly wiped from existence. Of course, it turns out it had closed at some point in the recent past, and though it's probably not a good idea to draw too many conclusions about the entire area from the closure of one flagship bar - hospitality is in a very tricky place right now generally - it feels like if this very smart and mature operation couldn't survive more than a couple of years with so much money around (I refer you to that floating swimming pool, and the river view gyms) then maybe the problems run deeper than just knowing your audience.

I hesitate, then, recommending Evernight due to a perverse combination of a) not wanting it to get so oversubscribed that I'll find it impossible to get a tablein the future, and b) worrying that like so many of these flagship openings in new developments, it won't last until the end of the year. For now, though, I'm going to assume neither of these things will happen and instead draw your attention to these lovely and colourful house pickles, a great little palate cleanser we kept coming back to between nibbles of other dishes.

A silky smooth whipped cod's roe spread inside warm brioch-y ageban buns like salty seafood butter, and made another top class snack. It was also noted with some satisfaction that the pickles that came attached to this dish were both (carrot and cucumber) different to those (radish, chilli and celery... I think) that arrived with the separate snack. I always appreciate a lack of overlap.

It was about this time that we bumped into Shaulan Steenson, executive chef at the wonderful Temaki in Brixton, on his way to serve 6 lucky people an omakase menu in the Evernight private dining room. Anyone who's ever been to Temaki will know it's one of the best - and best value - spots for Japanese food in London, and it makes absolute sense that given the opportunity to spread his wings a bit in this exciting new space he's jumped at it. Pictured here is an element of that menu, a stuffed katsu chicken wing - utterly lovely in every way - which he very kindly sent out. Anyway, more details here for those interested.

I didn't really love the scallop sashimi, but was persuaded to risk my own personal aversion to raw scallops because of the rather interesting sounding 'potato dashi'. In the end, this didn't live up to the promise either and what we ended up with was some rather wobbly, cloying raw scallop in a fairly bland and underseasoned sauce. Still, there's every chance a scallop fan would find a lot more to like.

Sake cured trout was much more interesting, the trout itself having a nice earthy taste and broad beans making a much more pleasant accompaniment than the more traditional edamame (come on, you know it's true).

But the real fireworks were saved for the next course. "Smoked eel, Potato Cake and N25 Caviar" is one of those rare instances where a dish reads like a dream, and still lives up to the promise. Whether the potato cake topped with caviar was a knowing or coincidental nod to the famous Quality Chop House dish is hard to say - the two restaurants couldn't otherwise be more different - but alongside this gorgeous mouthful, which would have been more than worth the price of admission by itself - was two dainty sticks of spring onion (I think - we shared this dish a little unevenly and I didn't try that bit) and a fantastic sweet-glazed geometric portion of meaty smoked eel. You will, if all goes well, be hearing a lot more about this dish in the future.

The savoury courses hadn't finished quite yet though - chawanmushi with morels and wild garlic was another staggeringly inventive and successful fusion dish, marrying foraged British ingredients with high-end Japanese techniques. It's going to be very interesting seeing how the Evernight menu evolves through the seasons as different local ingredients come and go. I wonder if they can be persuaded to do something with grouse in August?

Before the desserts, three cute skewers of grilled mochi, smoked [Lincolnshire] Poacher [cheese] and chilli crisp. Enjoyable, certainly - particularly the fluffy cheese sauce on top - but I'm afraid we were still delirious from the smoked eel and the chawanmushi and I don't remember a great deal about these otherwise. Maybe I'm just not a mochi fan.

Desserts continued mashing together British and Japanese flavours and techniques to the standard of that in the best of the savoury courses. This was a strawberry custard affair topped with shiso granita and I think sake ice cream, and if you can't enjoy those things together on a plate there's really no hope four you at all.

And finally, melon, vanilla and sansho meringue, a supremely light and gently peppery meringue sat in a wonderfully summery melon and vanilla soup.

Now, although the menu looks great value at first glance - and largely is - and we had absolutely no problem with our overall bill, it's fair to say that the dishes are often only mouthfuls and you'll often want to order one each (particularly the chawanmushi and smoked eel, as you won't ever have enough of those). Without a great deal of booze on our visit, and leaving not exactly stuffed, the bill came to £62pp, so you could realistically spend £100pp+ if you end up going for the big ticket items like the 'Turbot, asparagus and Yuzu-shu' (£26) or 'Cornish Lobster, Crab and Ikura Rice Donabe' (£52 for two). Oh, and final moan - the bench seating is way too low down. We asked to be moved to a high table, which was perfect, and though it was very entertaining watching other customers attempt to enjoy their dinner with their chins only just clearing the surface of the tables in front of them, you may not want the same experience yourself.

Overall though, Evernight impresses, delights and excites far more than it needs to. Yes, it's a strange, soulless and windswept part of town which demonstrates everything that's wrong with the London real estate industry, but it would be deeply unfair to blame the team behind Evernight for that. Japanese fusion food, in this city at least, is rarely done as well as this, and I think having to eat it in Nine Elms is a small price to pay for an experience so ultimately rewarding.

8/10

Ploussard, Battersea

As much as I complained on these pages that all the exciting new restaurants were opening up not handily close to where I live in SW11, but in far-flung places like Dalston or Shoreditch or Highgate, part of me still hoped that something would eventually come along to prove me wrong. And so it happens that in Battersea, not on the restaurant desert of Lavender Hill but close enough on Battersea Rise, I learned of a new place called Ploussard whose menu was full of the kind of exciting things you'd want to eat any day of the week, at prices that seem to have ignored the last couple of years of rampant inflation.

It really is a thing of beauty, is the Ploussard menu. Boasting an irresistable combination of fresh shellfish, seasonal favourites like asparagus, and the odd nod to the continent with things like paté en croute, most items are around the £5-£15 mark with only a course of beef in green peppercorn sauce cracking £25. This being an invite, we didn't see a bill, but having totted up our order post-event I can tell you that the total for two would have been around £100 with plenty of booze - pretty decent value for 2018 never mind 2023. Of course, there's always the risk that after the traditional "review period" is over these will start to creep up, but still, it's worth mentioning.

That booze, by the way, came first in the form of a "Meadow & sorrel martini", ticking all the required foraging boxes whilst still being a very clean, crisp version of a gin martini. It was lovely, making me want to go back and try their other house cocktail "Sage negroni" at some point, assuming it's available (the menu changes daily).

Whipped smoked cod's roe with squid ink crackers was another early indicator that there's some serious skill in the kitchen at Ploussard. I've had pretty flat and underwhelming versions of dishes of this type at Michelin-starred joints in central London (recently, too) but this was literally perfect, the cod's roe being supremely smooth and packed full of flavour, and the crackers crisp, salty and greaseless.

"Lincolnshire poacher eclairs" were on the menu, and so obviously were ordered. They were very clever little things indeed, with loads of lovely salty cheese filling and a nice delicate choux casing, and were great fun to eat. I've also had pretty ropey gougere at fancy central London joints recently, so I know how difficult these are to get right. They had got these right.

Asparagus were giant, robust UK versions - none of your limp Peruvian imports here thank you - with a lovely flavour and paired with a nice tart sauce gribiche which had been topped with toasted walnuts for a bit of extra texture.

Even better, though - impossible though it seems - was a "Lamb and anchovy crumpet". A tried and tested flavour combination perhaps, but lifted to new levels here thanks to plenty of minced lamb soaked in lamb jus and with the anchovy coming - I think - in the form of a kind of emulsion spread on top. Sliced like a pie you had a good amount of the anchovy-spread lamb and a home made crumpet, crunchy on the outside and bubbly within. It was glorious.

By the time the beef arrived, we had polished off quite a bit of food, and it could have been for this reason only that it was the only dish that didn't completely dazzle. Don't get me wrong, it was still impressive, with thick slices of pink beef slightly lacking in char, but with nicely charred vegetables all soaked in a salty peppercorn sauce. It was just "very good", though, whilst everything else had been "blinding".

"Rhubarb and custard" came in the form of a rhubarb compote sitting underneath a swirl of whipped custard cream, topped with a perfect rhubarb sorbet and some nice broken biscuits. The custard just dissolved in the mouth and the sorbet had just the right balance of tart and sweetness. In short, another masterclass.

I used to worry that I would score places a point of two higher if they were walkable from my house because of the joy of not having to navigate the London transport network after dinner. My memories of the meal wouldn't be tainted by the grim trudge through Victoria station at 9pm to discover half the trains were cancelled, or that the 344 bus was randomly terminating at Bank. I tried not to let these things affect me, but who knows.

Ploussard, though, doesn't need that boost. Hell, it doesn't even need me - every table was taken, some more than once, on the night I visited barely a week or two after opening, each available dining spot occupied largely (presumably) by locals like me who couldn't quite believe their luck. A neighbourhood restaurant, exciting, modern, seasonal, good value and with smart service? In Battersea? Whatever next.

9/10

I was invited to Ploussard and didn't see a bill. As I point out above though, expect to pay about £50/head.

Brindisa, Battersea

Ever since my first taste of their Iberico croquettas back in two thousand and *mumble mumble*, I've always had a soft spot for Brindisa. In fact, originally (before José Pizarro's restaurnats stole their crown), it was more than a soft spot - I was completely in love with the Borough Market location, as indeed was most of London; on market days a table there was like gold dust. With a winning combination of friendly service, robustly flavoured (and authentic) Spanish food and that all-important buzzy atmosphere of a restaurant in demand, it was impossible not to enjoy your time here, whether it was 15 minutes for a sherry and plate of hand-carved ham, or a long, boozy trawl through the tapas menu stretching way into the afternoon.

Since then, Brindisas have spread out across London like Spanish flu. Interestingly, some of the sites flirted briefly with regional specialisation such as Shoreditch's Tramontana (Catalan, serving fideuà and calçots) and I believe another was more Basque focussed though don't ask me which one; but these days they're all just Brindisa, serving an interesting and fiercely authentic menu of classic tapas. The latest branch is in Battersea, in the Power Station development and right next to the also-well-worth-a-visit Wright Bros seafood bar. Until the Northern Line extension is finished in God knows when, it's a bit of a bugger to get to, being 15 minutes walk from the nearest station (Battersea Park) and 25 minutes walk to the nearest Tube (Vauxhall), so I can very much recommend taking the Thames Clipper which from Embankment costs £5.50 and affords some fantastic photo opportunities.

Eating with a pescatarian friend is an interesting experience in a Spanish restaurant. Mostly it's fine - with all the ways you can eat cheese, anchovies, prawns and tuna, not to mention whole roast fish and seafood paella, there's more than enough choice if red meat isn't your thing. This bar snack of anchovy 'toast' with black olive tapenade is a perfect example of the Spanish way with seafood - salty and powerfully seafoody, with some great texture contrasts, it's something you'd happily order even if you were a committed carnivore.

Dried tuna is the closest thing to pescatarian ham, and Brindisa do a fantastic version of it under a frisée lettuce, orange and pomegranete salad. Colourful and perfectly seasoned, it's another thing that's dashed to the top end of my favourite Brindisa dishes.

Another one of my favourite things to eat in a tapas bar isn't just pescatarian, or even vegetarian. Ciabatta rubbed with good Spanish tomatoes, garlic and olive oil is one of a tiny number of completely vegan dishes that doesn't miss a dairy element at all, and is usually - as it was here - the highlight of a tapas spread.

I liked the idea of serving half a Torta de Cañarejal cheese, upended and warmed through like a mini fondue bucket, with breadsticks to dip. Unfortunately getting any greasy cheese to stick to the smooth breadsticks proved impossible, so we resorted to scooping out lumps of torta with a spoon and then sticking a mini breadstick in them, a tribute to Alan Partridge's savoury 99. Still, this worked well, and it was an excellent cheese. A sheep's milk, incidentally, from Castilla y León.

Although I was quite happy to lean towards the fish and seafood options, there are a couple of things on any tapas menu that, if available, I am literally incapable of leaving without ordering. One, of course, is a plate of Iberico Bellota ham, surely if not one of the world's finest foodstuffs of any kind then the world's actual finest foodstuff of any kind. Carved into neat squares, each containing just the right amount of fat-flesh ratio, this was some good ham work, although I'm guessing due to this odd location being largely deserted during daylight hours, the first few slivers were slightly - only slightly - on the dry side.

The second is a dish made famous by José, Secreto Iberico, a steak from those same acorn-fed pigs, seared rare and here served with a romseco sauce. Though the flavour was wonderful, as it always is, this arrived rather cold and could have done with a far more aggressive char to give it a bit of colour and texture. I'm not sure if Brindisa Battersea have access to a charcoal pit - I'm guessing they don't - and while this doesn't really affect the serving cheese and ham, for the roast meats you really miss it. The version at José in Bermondsey remains the ultimate.

Next, a lesson in Spanish restaurant authenticity. On the menu, this soup was described as "Sopa de Ajo al Punto Picante" and while some more knowledgable diners may know what usually constitutes a bowl of "Sopa de Ajo al Punto Picante" in mainland Europe, I don't think it was unreasonable of my pescatarian friend to rely on the description underneath, "Traditional spicy garlic soup & egg", and assume she could eat it. It arrived, she tasted it, and called over the waitress.

"Excuse me, does this soup have meat in it?"

"Oh, just a tiny bit of ham."

...which is all very charming and Spanish, but faintly irresponsible for a modern restaurant in London. Anyway, I ended up finishing it off alongside my own ham and Secreto, and though it was admittedly lovely - deep and complex with a gently poached egg swirling about in it for extra richness - it was a dish too far for comfort.

To fill the gap left by the soup, my friend ordered a couple of scoops of ice cream for dessert, which were decent if a little miniscule. But no real harm done, I suppose.

Despite the odd slip-up, though, Brindisa, even after all these years and with the choice of Spanish restaurants in London that much more wide-ranging than when they first started doing their thing, is still a reliably excellent place to eat. With a bone dry manzanilla and a glass of rioja, and cossetted by superb service, the evening was just as enjoyable in its own way as when I made the trip also by Clipper to Wright Bros a few months earlier. Clearly, the brains behind the Battersea Power Station complex know a good restaurant when they see one, and this latest incarnation deserves to to just as well as all the rest. I'll almost certainly be back myself.

7/10

I was invited to Brindisa and didn't see a bill. I'm guessing the damage would have been about £50/head.