A date with Daylesford

The first date is a tricky thing and despite being desperate to fall in love last Saturday, the object of my affections was not to be the one. Daylesford Organic in all its wholesome finery has received a mass of praising press and I should by now know that from the peak of expectation the fall to disappointment is all the more acutely felt.




The Daylesford brand, founded by the Bamford family with the first farm shop opening in 2003, has become synonymous with modern organic luxury. Proudly displayed throughout the Westbourne Grove store are Soil Association certifications, organic labels and various testaments to the nutritional wonders of their super foods.

One colourful wall placard describes the happy life of the Friesian herds who’s udders have produced all the milk, butter and cheese that will pass your lips. If you can get your hands on a jug of the white stuff that is, something that we failed to achieve despite numerous pleas from our bereft teacups.

Sitting down at a streamlined glass bench decorated with lines of chalky gravel we looked around for a waiter, first with anticipation, then with frustration and eventually with despair as we found it nearly impossible to spy anyone who might take our order. The manager was doing a sterling job, trying to steer her severely understaffed ship, but ultimately one lonesome person is never going to be able to keep a whole floor of Saturday breakfasters in high spirits.

Because of this we had plenty of time to ponder the concise menu which despite its shortness satisfies most appetites with its variety. A basket of toast (£3), bowl of granola (£5) or pile of pastries (£3.50) being the more traditional options but paperdelle bolognaise (£9.95) and spicy vegetable pad thai (£9.95) make the list for the more adventurous morning eater.

After managing to place our order - this felt like quite an achievement - we were rewarded with swiftly appearing sustenance. Earl grey and elderflower tea and smooth rich coffee were served with a delicious square of soft chocolate brownie; perfectly cooked sticky sponge dotted with white chocolate chips. Next to arrive was a statuesque vase of water, long slivers of cucumber curving through the liquid and for once tap water didn’t feel like the poor man’s choice. Sadly the Virgin Mary lacked for everything, the plain tomato juice missing any seasoning or spice at all.

My plate of scrambled eggs (£4) was perfect: Fluffy, well seasoned, creamy and orange-yolked on top of crunchy buttery sourdough, they paid testament to the happy hens from which they came. Eggs Benedict and Florentine (£6.95) were both devoured with smiles, the bright shiny hollandaise lemony and well balanced.

Sugar-free, wheat-free, granola muesli with almond milk had the potential to resemble chewy cardboard but the glass bowl was full of satisfyingly crunchy cereal, flecked with goji berries and seeds. The pappardelle with bolognaise sauce was sloppily presented in comparison and the flavours good but not memorable.

Plates finally cleared, our verdict was that the food is fine, the atmosphere and service less so. The almost complete absence of staff make dining here a stressful experience for both customers and employees. But there’s something about Daylesford, the concept is so attractive, the ethos so compelling, that I did something I never do in the dating world and after a less than convincing first experience, said yes to date two.

And I’m glad I did because this time the service was quicker, the staff were not so frenetically pressured and there was time to appreciate the surrounding space with it’s bar stacked with loaves of spelt sourdough, pumpernickel and baguettes. Or the meat counters housing pork, lamb, beef and game from valleys of the south west, guarded by startled looking stuffed pheasants. And the flickering open stone fire, ordered shelves of juices, wines and oils and impressive stacks of cakes.

The shop is a decadent emporia housing every food lover’s fantasy. Chocolate covered nuts, sambuca-flavoured honey, pretty pink peppercorns, cases of marons glace, cellophane wrapped biscotti, juniper berries and roasted seeds are just a few of the delights displayed on their elegant shelves. The choice is bewildering – in a good way.

The retail experience is exciting, the food full of flavour and the concept one with which it is easy to be taken with. But the service is so non-existent that date three is still not a sure thing.



Daylesford Organic
208-212 Westbourne Grove
London W11 2RH
020 7313 8050
http://www.daylesfordorganic.com/

Breakfast at The Botanist

On the north corner of Sloane Square, the stylish Botanist brasserie apes its elegant setting in the safe way one would expect of its Chelsea location. The venue has been lent its theme by the legacy of Sir Hans Sloane; prints of flora and fauna from his collections are decorously woven into the dressing of the rooms, creating a calm and fresh interior.

Floor to ceiling windows flood light into the spacious entrance and make the most of the dramatic metallic bar made complete by oversized vases, tall stools and diners draping themselves on its edge. Wandering through to the dining room we sit down on pale leather banquettes next to another magnificent expanse of glass and ponder the eclectic breakfast list which features sauteed cepes, Parma ham, pancakes and porridge.

Considering there are only one or two other groups and several unoccupied waitresses it takes an extraordinarily long time to order our drinks; perhaps the serenity of the location has taken too strong a hold. But when the loose leaf Lapsang does arrive in its charming pastel ceramic pot it is delicious and the cappuccino is well, a cappuccino – warm, frothy, caffeinated, not particularly memorable – standard in a city where every other shop front conceals an Italian coffee machine.

Sir Hans Sloane was responsible for bringing cocoa to our shores and discovered that with milk and sugar this strange exotic bean was almost palatable. We should of course have tried the decadent Botanist Hot Chocolate, created in his honour, but I wasn’t convinced that poached eggs and a Rococo chocolate stirrer would make such a perfect pair.

The scrambled eggs which arrived atop smoked salmon and English muffins told the same story as the coffee, they were remarkable in nothing bar the small portion. And my poached eggs were undercooked, watery and tasted more of vinegar than anything else. This is not in any way bad food, if you were in less impressive surroundings perhaps it would taste better, perhaps not, but the over all sense is that the cuisine plays second fiddle to the atmosphere.

Just as Sir Hans Sloane’s legacy was arguably the result of lucrative investments and fortuitous circumstances rather than inspired intellect or hunger for discovery so the Botanist’s success seems to be based on design and setting rather than innovative or interesting culinary mastery. The team behind it just doesn’t think outside the box, or in this case the very famous Square.

The Botanist
No 7 Sloane Square
London SW1W 8EE
020 7730 0077
http://www.thebotanistonsloanesquare.com/

Breakfast at Automat

Going out for breakfast usually leaves me feeling inspired, keen to chatter about my latest find with other restaurant lovers, or at least with an anecdote or two for a riveting review. Yesterday I left Automat feeling flat which says a lot about this American Brasserie in Mayfair, open since 2005, which professes itself as a “cultural exchange” between London and New York.

As my best breakfast buddy and I step into the café interior with its black and white floor tiles, our first impression is of Parisian chic, right down to the disinterested waiter who greets us grumpily from behind the bar. We are quickly led into the adjacent railway carriage style diner, seated in roomy booths, intimately lit with cute chrome reading lamps, and transported away from the early morning bustle of Mayfair.

The surrounding tables are occupied by smart local businessmen, presumably breaking transatlantic deals over their espressos and muffins, lending the room a buzzy atmosphere without being noisy. The compact menu seems promising with classic egg dishes, buttermilk pancakes, waffles, muffins and a full breakfast including fillet steak for those of ambitious appetite.

Being classicists and on the British side of the cultural exchange we both order egg dishes, and of course tea, and then watch with slight envy as a pile of pancakes is placed at another table.

Scrambled eggs and smoked salmon arrive quickly and are unfortunately substandard. Dry, pale eggs on quite acceptable toast, surrounded by a couple of slivers of relatively tasty smoked salmon. Sadly, it is no tastier than you could find in the fish section of your local supermarket. Knowing that in a renowned dining room, just across Piccadilly, a generous stack of Scottish salmon, buttery eggs and soft brioche will greet you for a similar price perhaps puts Automat at a disadvantage but it is one that they chose through default of location.

The American options on the menu: muffins, pastries, waffles and milkshakes served in elegant bulb glasses, are received warmly at the nearby tables and the baskets of baked goodies seem delightfully decadent so early in the day. Our large glasses of apple juice were tangy, fruity and refreshingly cold but the pots of stewing Twinings tea were disappointing considering their hefty price tag.

When it came to paying, spending ten minutes attempting to make eye contact with any of the three waitresses left us feeling a bit neglected, especially considering there were only six other tables of diners.

Automat’s opening website statement mentions nothing about food and we left with the sense that for both the people who frequent it and for those that run it, the style of the crockery is more important than the breakfast upon it. Which is a shame, because this well decked out and atmospheric brasserie has plenty of character, an enviable location and unrivalled milkshakes. Next time, I’ll cross the Atlantic divide and have pancakes.

Automat, 33 Dover Street, London W1S 4NF, 020 7499 3033
http://www.automat-london.com/

I've become a breakfast buff

I can’t think of a more idyllic way to wake up to the world than to spend an hour lazily lingering over snow white poached eggs with rich orange yolks that burst satisfyingly under your fork or buttery croissants dunked in bowl sized cups of café-au-lait.

Watching office-bound commuters scurrying along pavements, while absent-mindedly turning the page of the paper, feels like the ultimate indulgence. It is a pleasure worth struggling out of bed an hour earlier for, before surrendering to the confines of the workplace.

I could talk about the pleasures of petit dejeuner indefinitely and am amazed by the myriad possibilities provided by the oeuf. Whether in the golden fold of an omelette, fried and glistening with butter or boiled and waiting for its soldier, the egg is key and without it breakfast is at a loss.

I find choosing from the many tempting delights on a morning menu taxing, especially so close to dawn. Should I have Eggs Benedict, Florentine or Royale which come nestled on toasted muffins and draped with tangy, velvet hollandaise. Or a pile of American style airy pancakes that melt into their moat of blueberry dotted maple syrup. Perhaps gratifyingly crunchy, nut filled, granola hidden under honey topped Greek yoghurt will suffice, or maybe a soft envelope of granary bread stuffed with crispy rashers of smoked bacon.

I am yet to work out if these classics are so satisfying simply because your body is at its hungriest, twelve hours since your last meal. It does seem that breakfast combinations are designed with comfort in mind perhaps derived from the familiarity of childhood classics or the sugar hit of sweet waffles and honeyed toast.

Having just returned from an inferior breakfast in a slightly superior restaurant I’ve realised that having your expectations disappointed by second rate sustenance sits even less well at sunrise than at other mealtimes, although I’m willing to admit that this may be attributable to the absence of booze and resulting clarity of memory.

So, in pursuit of breakfast nirvana I’m going to embark on a quest to find the best, worst, most obscure, interesting, healthy or heart attack worthy morning meals on offer.

Any suggestions for places to try would be very welcome…