Story, Bermondsey

There is nothing wrong with a bit of ambition. In a town where most new places are aiming for no more than to be the next filthy burger joint or comfort-food slop-house ("hey guys, can we do what X are doing, only worse and with bigger profits?"), it's hard to get too irritated with anywhere with the opposite problem.

Hard, perhaps, but not impossible. Story tests our patience to such a degree, with its twee, pretentious concept laid on so thickly, that the whole thing threatens so dissolve into self-parody from almost the first moment we sit down. The menu is hidden inside a weather-beaten copy of Bleak House, dishes are introduced as if they were deeply personal emotional statements and not just a bit of food on a plate, and - the real kicker - diners are encouraged, for some bizarre reason, to bring their own book to leave at the restaurant. Or to put it in their words, "Our dream is for all guests to leave a book at Story, which will remain there to evoke the inspiration in others that we hope our food will evoke in you." It's almost enough to put you off your horseradish snow.

That our meal at Story ended up being so enjoyable, then, is thanks to one thing and one thing only - that ignoring all the ego and frills and affected flummery, the food is generally of an incredibly high standard. Which is just as well, because if it hadn't been I'd have wanted to shove that copy of Bleak House somewhere even the most determined of kitchen porters would not have not been able to extract it.

Not feeling brave - or flush - enough for the full ten courses for £65, we thought we'd settle for "just" the six for £45. As it turns out, though, there are so many little extra bits and bobs before and after the tasting menu proper that it certainly didn't feel like we were missing out. Crispy cod skin topped with creamed roe and summer herbs was the first to arrive, and was brave enough to taste very strongly of fish, unlike the kind of reimagined Quavers you might get elsewhere. And it was for this reason I liked them, while my friend wasn't so sure. This was one plot device that was going to reoccur throughout the course of the lunch.

Then nasturtium flowers filled with oyster purée, radishes filled with seaweed butter, eel mousse "Oreos" (Storyeos?), and deep-fried rabbit "sandwiches", all arriving in quick succession but just the right, and fun, side of enjoyable. I preferred the delicate oyster flowers to the rather soggy rabbit bites, but my friend thought the opposite so take your pick. The joy of a meal like this is that you're not forced to love everything; the relentless pace keeps you interested even as the individual elements don't.

Anyone with a passing interest in the London restaurant world will already know all they need to know about the famous Story "dripping candle". Briefly, it's a very ordinary-looking candle but is made out of beef tallow, and once lit slowly melts into the candlestick base where you are encouraged to dip the house bread. Yes, butter would have probably tasted better but it's a thing so inventive and so clever that only the most cynical would take issue with it. Much more fun than actually eating it, in fact, was watching it gracefully dissolve into weird and wonderful shapes during the course of the meal.

"Burnt onion, apple, gin and thyme" was a beautiful-looking thing, and if you can't enjoy a bit of caramelised onion there's something wrong with you. Perhaps the only real criticism to be levelled here is that it seemed very like something you might be given at one of the other current temples of modern British gastronomy, but then any novellist will tell you, there's always power in repetition.

There were things I didn't like about "Beetroot, raspberry and horseradish" - the beetroot hadn't been treated (pickled? marinated?) enough to remove that slightly unpleasant soily taste, and I didn't eat every last expertly carved lump of it. But the horseradish snow was as addictive as the substance it resembled, melting in the mouth into a kind of salty, umami-rich cream, and the superbly flavoured raspberries unexpectedly matched it perfectly. Again, horseradish snow is not a unique concept (see: The Ledbury, amongst others) but who cares when it tastes as good as this.

Then my favourite bit of Story - "Pigeon, summer truffle and pine", which was pretty much everything I like about this kind of food on one plate. The pigeon was bloody and wonderfully smoky (done in the Big Green Egg BBQ stood proudly outside the restaurant), the pine was I think represented by two blobs of shocking green purée which tasted of thick vegetation, and the truffles were liberally sprinkled around the place and were also packed with flavour. But even more impressive were the greens not mentioned on the menu, such as an utterly perfect example of broccoli and some seared root vegetables of some kind which would have been enough to cause a stir on their own. Technically impressive, visually stunning and immaculately realised, this was a world-class dish.

The tersely-described "lemon" was a few clever treatments of the fruit - some more of that snow, a sharp blob of sorbet and a bit of white chocolate mousse. Faintly familiar in that kind of Noma/Ledbury/Clove Club way but nonetheless very easy to eat.

And then another famous Story creation, the "Three bears porridge", where you are asked to guess which is "too sweet", "too salty" or "just right". Of course, none are really "too" anything; it would be a very strange thing for a restaurant to do to deliberately overseason a dish just for a somewhat laboured fairytale parallel. One is sort of a salted caramel affair, one is all toffee and nuts, and I've no idea what went into the "just right" but the fact it was my least favourite probably says more about me than the skill of the chefs. I still ate it.

With just a little chocolate teacake and sweep of impossibly delicate toffee ribbon of some kind, we were done. By now, I imagine you've made your mind up whether you think Story is an overthought pile of foodie-frottism or a fun and exciting to spend a couple of hours of your life, and you will have probably also guessed that I'm firmly in the 2nd camp. We went a bit OT on the booze (two bottles of £40 prosecco between two may not be how everyone will choose to start their Saturday) but there wasn't much on the wine list under £30 and I have a feeling this might be something approaching an average spend, so as with any of these things, if it doesn't look like your kind of thing and you balk at paying this kind of money for lunch, then Story probably isn't for you.

But crucially when you're spending a lot of money on food, or drink, or damn near anything, it all comes down to value. Despite not loving every bit of everything, my lasting memory is of the dizzying highs of that pigeon or horseradish snow or the fascinating organic shapes created by a slowly-melting stick of beef fat. There was enough care and skill shown, overall, for the odd irritation, in the end, to not mean so much. And so, even if this may not be the final, perfect Story, as a first chapter, it deserves our attention.

8/10

Cheese and Biscuits Restaurant of the Year 2010 - The Ledbury

When people find out I'm a food blogger, their response is invariably "So which is your favourite restaurant, then?". Actually that's not quite true - their first question is usually "What's a food blog?" but once that has been explained, that's their second question. And without trying to be difficult, my response to that is "I don't really have one." Because I don't - I have many favourite restaurants depending on mood and location and cuisine, and picking just one is pretty much impossible. How on earth do you compare the spice and fire and belly-aching fun of Chilli Cool with the sophisticated French style of Racine or the gutsy, comforting British fare at the Harwood Arms? They're all brilliant places in their own way, equally enjoyable, equally rewarding.

And yet here we are, and I imagine you've already noticed the title of this post, so obviously I do think one particular restaurant has something to mark it apart from the rest. Before I get on to explaining my reasons, though, and in the spirit of various other far more experienced and respected critics, here's a brief summary of the best and worst of 2010.


Best bar is a difficult one, because although I enjoy knocking back a rhubarb gin and tonic as much as anyone in the glittering downstairs space at Bob Bob Ricard, and believe me I have done on far too many occasions this year, we still can't escape the fact that Brian Silva's bar at Rules is still the pinnacle of achievement in this field, and so, for the 2nd year running, it's still my favourite place to pop in for a drink. If you can, try and go while the Christmas decorations are up - with the log fire going and the smell of pine, it's the most wonderfully festive place to guzzle a Negroni.


Best PR campaign special mentions go to Twitter kings @Polposoho and @DishoomLondon, who by simply engaging with all feedback, good and bad, in a friendly and professional way have shown, by example, the very best way to use social media to spread the word about your restaurant. It surely helps that they are both great restaurants, but their energy and commitment are still impressive. The overall winners, however, are the guys behind the Owl and Pussycat in Shoreditch, who left such a thoughtful, reasoned and detailed response to my rather grumpy review that it even made me want to go back and give them another go, which I guess is exactly the reaction they were hoping for. So well done them.


There have, sadly, been plenty of contenders for worst PR campaign, not least of which Cantina Laredo who began by booking in various groups of bloggers to try their new "gourmet" Mexican restaurant, then promptly cancelled them in a fit of pique when we all started writing up our awful meals. Then they tried a different, equally worrisome tactic - inviting rival restaurateurs in for a free meal, taking a photo then posting it on Twitter as if it was some kind of official endorsement. That Cantina Laredo is a hugely overpriced, mediocre Covent Garden tourist trap isn't really the issue here - their cackhanded response to criticism should serve as an example of how not to go about managing the image of your business. But the defensive attitude of Cantina Laredon't pales into comparison to that of Dego, who as the only restaurant ever on this blog to have their PR "guru" openly leave belligerent comments on a bad review of their client, as well as presumably cajoling friends and staff to do the same on this and other restaurant review sites, take the crown for worst PR campaign overall. I am, however, eternally thankful to "jp", "Liza C", "SP" and the rest of the Dego shill gang for being so entertainingly useless.


On a similar note, I'm sure I would be justified in making Dego my Worst overall restaurant, as my meal there was truly appalling, but let's not forget, back in August, a restaurant so diabolical, not just inept but actually pro-actively evil, that in comparison makes Dego look like the Fat Duck. Please, please Aberdeen Angus, I beg of you, please go out of business as soon as you possibly can. London and the world will be immeasurably better off with your demise.


Now, on to best overall restaurant. I had many, many fantastic meals this year, more than I could ever hope for and certainly far more than I can safely mention here without either boring you all senseless or leaving some very worthy contenders out. But honourable mentions should go to Polpetto, a charming and shabbily glamorous room tucked away up an anonymous staircase in Soho that serves some of the very finest and most interesting Italian food in London; Hawksmoor and Goodman, which manage to outdo each other on every visit and are the finest ambassadors to British beef - and British steak restaurants - you could wish for; Brawn, a brave and brilliant new restaurant in Hackney which is an instant classic; and I could hardly go without mentioning my two favourite Vietnamese places, Mien Tay in Battersea and the Viet Grill in Shoreditch, each always great fun.


Why then, overall, the Ledbury? A few reasons, not least of which the food, which is as close to perfection as you could ever want and never fails to satisfy on every single level. The dishes that Brett Graham is turning out are not just wonderfully presented, technically brilliant and bursting with fresh, seasonal flavours, they always have that extra touch of mystery, a surprise ingredient or an unusual texture that speak of a true craftsman at the very top of his game. I can still remember the first time I ate his scallop ceviche with horseradish snow - the sweet plump scallops topped with spicy ice, surrounded by a slick of bright green pesto, a perfect dish if ever one was made - and I'm sure I will for the rest of my days. But add to that the service, professional and friendly without being too stiff or too casual, a bright and comfortable room, and a good value lunch menu, and you have yourselves the best restaurant in London. Much as I was tempted to award less high-falutin' (and let's face it, cheaper) establishments the top gong, I find myself looking forward to my meals at the Ledbury with childlike glee and giddy excitement that is matched by nowhere else.


Looking forward to 2011, trips to Japan, New York and Italy are on the cards if the snow ever melts, but closer to home the first big red mark on the diary is Heston Blumenthal's Dinner, where I'm booked into with a combination of optimism (for a new direction for this obviously talented chef and the team behind him) and fear (for my bank balance). But aside from such big-name arrivals, and mindful of the howls of protest I will surely receive from fans of Madrid or New York or Tokyo, I am fiercely of the opinion that there is no greater place in the world right now to eat out than London. Maddeningly wallet-draining it may occasionally be, but for sheer variety, exuberance and idiosyncratic charm, there is nowhere like it, and nowhere else I'd rather be. So many thanks, as ever, to everyone who has read this blog at any time over the last 12 months, in numbers that bewilder as much as they delight, and all the best for Christmas and the New Year.

Pictures from the Ledbury (1st and last) kindly supplied by Hollow Legs

The Ledbury, Notting Hill

Some people - the irritating gits - are born over-achievers. Normally the CV and career path of chefs is of little interest to anyone other than the most obsessive restaurant geek (that would be me, then), but how the Ledbury came about is a glowing tribute to the talents of one of our most exciting young cooks. Brett Graham arrived in this country (according to my sources) in 2000. Two years later, he had won Young Chef of the Year. Three years after that, he opened the Ledbury, which this year won two Michelin stars. Not only that, but Graham's other project, a little pub in Fulham you may have heard of called the Harwood Arms, itself won a Michelin star. He's still only 30 years old. The utter bastard.

Graham famously learned his trade at Mayfair's The Square, under a chef with a proven track record of churning out Michelin-starred protegés, Philip Howard. In my ignorance, I was expecting the Ledbury to be a kind of Square Lite, showcasing some of the familiar Howard dishes but with less of the polish and sophistication than the mothership, which has after all been going since the early 90s. What I wasn't expecting was dish after dish of love, sparkle and invention, with a style and personality all of its own, and a front of house as charming and professional as any in the city.

Unusually for this blog, I had been to the Ledbury before but hadn't blogged about it, leaving that task in Hollow Legs' very capable hands. Lizzie's own love affair with the Ledbury began at Taste of London 2009, and with the famous ash-baked celeriac followed by a heavenly summer fruits bellini - Taste may be overcrowded, overpriced and very bad at PR, but for introducing us to this remarkable restaurant a handful of greedy bloggers will be forever grateful. But enough reminiscing; onto The Ledbury 2010.


An amuse of some kind of taramasalata (sorry but if it's not on the menu and I have to rely on my particularly useless powers of recall, then this is the best you're going to get) on a crispy strip of filo (I think) pastry was a pleasant enough start. I've never really had an amuse anything more than pleasant, but then perhaps that's the point - to get your tastebuds going without overshadowing any of the other dishes.


First course from the tasting menu proper (what the hell, you only live once) was a scallop cerviche with horseradish "snow". If you're thinking that sounds a bit too fancy-pants and twee to deliver on flavour, then you couldn't be more wrong; sweet fresh scallops were topped with acidic, spicy frozen horseradish and dressed with an intensely-flavoured dill pesto. It was one of those plates of food that delivered in spades in every department; delightful texture contrasts, intelligently balanced flavours, good use of the deep freeze. Simply brilliant.


Next a clever squid 'risotto' - not a risotto at all in fact, but pieces of squid flesh chopped up to the size of grains of rice in some kind of cream/stock sauce, garnished with a cauliflower foam (I'll forgive them this frippery) and sherry reduction. Bringing to mind the Sportsman's deconstructed crab risotto back in October, it was nevertheless a unique dish, showcasing a both a mastery of texture and flavour and experimentation without sacrificing straightforward pleasure of eating.


The flame-grilled mackerel was up there with the scallop cerviche as the standout dish of our meal on Saturday. How they had managed to get a fragile, smoky char-grilled skin on this tiny cube of fresh mackerel whilst keeping the flesh at the base ever so slightly pink is astonishing. Served with it was a cute little tube (made from some kind of translucent noodle or pasta) of cured mackerel and shiso. Yet another brilliant course.


These three crispy on the outside, moist within cubes of monkfish were served with a shockingly green sauce made from padron peppers. Accompanying the fish was a cylinder of dense (I think) potato fondant, or if it wasn't fondant it was a very very tasty and densely textured boiled potato. There wasn't a single element of any dish which wasn't carefully considered and in perfect harmony with the other ingredients, and each mouthful was a little voyage of discovery.


Doing to tiny cubes of chicken what they had very successfully done to tiny cubes of chargrilled mackerel, these were delicately flavoured, tender and with a good crispy skin. They were served with white asparagus and a creamy morel sauce, which had an astonishing rich flavour and was very attractively presented. The worst you could say about this plate of food is that chicken and mushrooms is hardly an earth-shattering match, but it's a testament to the invention and playfulness on display that this more straightforward assembly of ingredients still made an impression. A sprig of thyme hidden under a delicately seasoned milk skin showed a sense of humour and rounded off the complimentary flavours perfectly.


Last of the savoury courses was a piece of 24-hour slow cooked lamb, lovely and crispy outside and - it almost goes without saying - tender and pink within. Whilst the lamb was as good as you could hope for, it was served with a truly exceptional slice of miso aubergine, almost meaty in its richness. I hadn't previously considered myself an aubergine fan, but this one element of this one dish was perhaps the most revelatory moment in the whole meal. Turns out I did like aubergines after all, I just needed Brett Graham to cook them for me. Who knew?


So to desserts. It seems the relatively low key of the savoury amuse doesn't apply to the pre-dessert course, as this strawberry concoction was delicious. There were a number of different elements to it, but because they're not detailed on the menu I don't have a flipping clue what most of them were. There were chunks of fresh strawberries, some strawberry jelly and a teeny blob of strawberry ice cream, I think. Yeah, that'll do.


Caramelised banana galette with peanut ice cream was, if not anywhere near approaching a duff note, just slightly less exciting than the others. It tasted as good as caramel and bananas and peanut ice cream ever would, but there wasn't really anything extraordinary in terms of invention or technique. This is the problem with getting spoiled so much earlier in the meal - as soon as anything merely good comes along it can't help being a disappointment.

It wasn't just the food on the table that made this lunch one of the more memorable in recent years. Service from everyone, from the friendly sommellier who didn't flinch in the slightest when asked to recommend "something cheap", to the charming maitre d' who recognised us from our one visit nearly six months ago, was everything you could ask for. A world apart from the in-your-face over-familiarity of Bistrot Bruno Loubet a few days ago, these guys were smart, professional, discreet and efficient, a virtual masterclass in perfect service. A casual enquiry as to whether Graham was in the kitchen that day led to an invitation to meet the man himself at work, and so downstairs we trooped, to offer our embarassingly effusive feedback on the meal and even try a couple of mouthfuls of a la carte desserts (a clever violet-flavoured sorbet, and a superb honey soufflé with thyme ice cream). Graham is, depressingly inevitably, charming and eloquent, talking us through the techniques he used to produce the clever flame-grilling effect on the mackerel (cooked above the flames on a kind of thin frame which allows the oil to drip off and make a nice crispy skin) and promising to bring back that summer berry and hibiscus bellini if we gave him "enough notice" on our next visit.


Far from setting up a Square Mark II and gunning for Michelin stars using the tried and tested recipes of his old boss, Brett Graham's food at the Ledbury is unique - as characterful and intelligently experimental, and most importantly delicious, as any other restaurant in London, even the Square which (whisper it) almost seems slightly po-faced and dated in comparison. Some of the most exciting food I've had the pleasure to eat, by a chef at the top of his game, running his own two Michelin starred kitchen, and a throughly nice (and, Lizzie would like me to add, rather dishy) chap into the bargain. And did I mention he's only 30? The utter, utter bastard.

9/10

Photos are Lizzie's. She did the work so that I didn't have to.