Terroirs Wine Bar & Restaurant

At first glance the grey facades of William IV Street in central London give no hint of the gem that is buried beneath the paving stones. Arriving in the packed pre-theatre hour we were led through the bustling upstairs bistro, down a non-descript staircase and into a quiet cellar of a room, suspecting that we had been dragged away from the fun of the top floor...

Read more at 30 Days of Food & Drink 2010

Secret dining with the Saltoun Supper Club

Secret dining is more than just supper in somebody’s sitting room...

Getting to this secret eatery in South London is something of a treasure hunt in itself. It began with the excitement of securing a booking and continued as we were drip fed enticing nuggets of information as the date drew ever closer, until just a few hours before supper when the location was finally divulged. The adventure continued as we surreptitiously sidled down a quiet residential street wondering who else was in on our secret and what on earth would greet us when we got there.

Keep reading at 30 Days of Food and Drink

Marvellous Mooli's

Think of Indian cuisine and your mind doesn’t immediately leap to delicate bread making. If you think of baking at all then the familiar British high street fare of stodgy elephantine naan breads, oily poppadoms or chewy parathas may well be what springs up. These slander-worthy imitations of the delicious creations found on the subcontinent are as far away from the original as processed orange slices are from real cheese.

A visit last week to the newly opened Mooli’s in Soho brought to mind the pleasures that Indian bread in its true form can be. In a small, bright, premises at the north end of Frith Street two devout foodies presented me with perfectly baked, soft Indian flatbreads, known as rotis that taste just as they do in their homeland.

Freshly baked every day on a machine lovingly named Moolita, these rotis are the real thing: almost as thin as a French crepe the dough yields pleasingly as you bite into it, the perfect encasement for the delicacies within.

Behind the counter the concise menu is hung high, brightly listing the five types of Mooli available. Wanting to try everything our stomachs would allow we went for a feast of mini Moolis which arrived on vivid pink and green plastic trays, each with a corresponding chutney, made specifically to compliment its partner.

Asparagus and potato with tamarind chutney was demolished in seconds as we tried to guess the spices which had lent each mouthful such a moreish quality. Next a warm parcel of tangy tender chicken was brought to life by apple and mint, buzzing memorably on your taste buds. The paneer, while interesting to try, didn’t work as well, the mild flavour lost next to powerful tomato chutney and the texture and tepid temperature being slightly obscure for what is in essence cottage cheese.

The pork and beef were firmly back on track though; each mouthful of the soft meat gently releasing the punchy spices soaked up in the long cooking process which the owners are determined to maintain. Spicier than the first moolis we tried, the beef is cooled with raita and coconut while the pork is speckled with pretty pink pomegranate seeds.

As we got talking to Sam and Matthew, the entrepreneurs behind the restaurant, it became clear just how much attention to detail has been fostered onto this project. The two men have an infectious enthusiasm for their products with a story behind everything on the premises – whether it’s the ingredients sourced from far corners of India, recipes handed down from relations and perfected during hours of trial and error or the specialist equipment which has been hauled across the Atlantic.

Listening to them you quickly become caught up in what has been a labour of love to bring the flavours of Mumbai, Delhi or Kerala to our own pavements, for while at the high end of the London restaurant scene the likes of Benares and the Bombay Brasserie turn out world class cuisine, high street and fast food outlets rarely do justice to the Indian kitchen.

Mooli’s with their clean, fresh flavours and enthusiastic approach may well change this though. These parcels even win marks on the health front – there’s a complete absence of frying or oil, everything in the kitchen is baked (even the poppadoms) and nowhere will you find a cloying dollop of mayo.

Given the choice between an unfulfilling salad box and a marvellous Mooli, the decision is obvious. Mooli’s is a very welcome addition to the Soho lunch time scene as their already loyal customers will attest to – one in particular is so taken that he has promised to introduce a new customer every day.

Keep an eye on Twitter to hear about the challenges to win Mooli's for free.

Mooli’s
50 Frith Street
London W1D 4SQ
020 7494 9075
www.moolis.com

The Providores

The Providores popped into my life in the nick of time; just as brunch had begun to get boring. London is a city awash with generic morning menus and this mecca for early eaters brings imagination in spades.



Opened eight years ago by Kiwi chef Peter Gordon previously of Sugar Club fame, The Providores is housed unobtrusively behind a wooden framed shop front on Marylebone High Street. Having been told to expect a queue we arrived early and sure enough a line of hungry punters had already formed; this in a city bereft of patience is evidence of the delights within.

Step over the threshold and a high communal table forms the centrepiece. Smaller tables line the walls and even the bright bay window has been cleverly turned into a breakfast bar, occupied today by lone diners and piles of Sunday papers. The space is compact, the diners many and the staff busy, yet the atmosphere is relaxed and unhurried.

Settling down at our table we take in the surroundings: statement white lamp shades draw your attention to the high ceilings in the centre of the room while oversized unadorned light bulbs dangle over our heads, their orange elements glowing brightly. The interior is clever, the lighting creating an illusion of space where there is none, features like nifty coat hooks hiding under tables keeping clutter minimal.

The menu is a revelation. Ingredients like sumac, yuzu, miso and tamarillo sit alongside bacon, bread and oats. Pancakes of sweetcorn and blueberry (£8.80), baked beans with smoky molasses (£2.80) and perhaps the most intriguing of all the combinations – poached Turkish eggs with yoghurt and chilli butter (£6.20). Read on further and the choice becomes impossible so intriguing are the dishes.

Tumblers of strong rich coffee arrive, the frothy topping bearing the baristas arty signature. A pot of fragrant earl grey is accompanied by a tea cup into which a small milk jug has been snugly slotted, another space saver or perhaps just stylish after thought.

Our eagerly anticipated choices arrive and we are impressed. A generous slab of French toast (£8.80), stuffed with bananas and pecans, topped with plenty of streaky bacon and surrounded by a pool of vanilla syrup disappears in seconds. This indulgent combination takes the best from European and American classics and creates a satisfying winner.

Opaque flakes of hot-smoked salmon, layered with spinach and perfectly poached eggs on walnut toasted bread, dripping with yuzu-hollandaise (£10.40) is mouth watering (yuzu being an oriental citrus). Labelling this a variation on the ubiquitous Eggs Benedict does it no justice, the dishes may have similar origins but I belie any classicist to try this without undergoing instant modernisation.

And finally: a bowl of porridge. Not just any old oats but “brown rice, apple, maple syrup and miso porridge made using soy milk and served with tamarillo compote.”(£6) A description so pretentious I couldn’t resist it. This porridge is so ridiculous it doesn’t contain a single flake of oat and despite not wanting to like it, the verdict was good. The brown rice lent an unusual texture but the finished dish was creamy not rich, sweet not sickly and made fresh by the apple puree, though nearer to rice pudding than the menu description suggests.

As our squeaky clean plates were whisked away it became clear that a return trip was a necessity. This first visit was just a sample of a menu brimming with intriguing and innovative combinations. It updates and questions the classics and is not afraid to be provocative in doing so.

The clearest illustration of this restaurant’s nature though lies beside the boiled eggs: the toasted soldiers come with vegemite. Any restaurant on British soil ballsy enough to usurp marmite with its cousin from the subcontinent has to be worth a visit.

The Providores & Tapa Room
109 Marylebone High Street
London W1U 4RX
020 7935 6175
http://www.theprovidores.co.uk/

The Scarsdale Tavern

There are some places that should be kept secret. Local haunts that thrive on anonymity, that you only mention to the people you trust not to ruin them and you wouldn’t mind bumping into if they paid a visit. The unassuming backstreet canteen, neighbourhood coffee shop or third-generation bakery that feel like life enhancing discoveries when first you walk through the door.

Unfortunately much as I try, I’m terrible at keeping secrets. I would be an interrogator’s dream. If there’s any sign that an exciting bit of news might be well received, before I know it, it’s out. So while I’m not one to keep your deepest, darkest skeleton in the closet, I am one to divulge a few of my own.

On a quiet, residential square at the wrong end of Kensington High Street you could almost miss The Scarsdale so unassuming is the entrance. Quietly blending into the adjacent terraced houses as it does seems fitting for a pub that is still very much a local.

In the summer colourful hanging baskets tumble over the railings and now in early winter ever-green plants guide you towards the Georgian building and the welcome heat within. As we walked in we spied a blackboard proclaiming the arrival of this year’s Beaujolais Nouveau which meant our tipple was chosen for the day.

For once, finding a table among the assortment of mis-matched wooden furniture presented no challenge and we settled down in a cosy corner next to an antique dealer who throughout our stay played host to various punters. He eventually gave up his table to a trio of affable drunks playing a game that seemed low on rules and high on hilarity.

A bustling square bar takes centre stage, the layout allowing you to completely circle around it, passing through the vaguely formal dining area that stretches back to the kitchen. Finding empty tables here (to sit at them you must be eating) is frustrating when so many loyal regulars cram for space on the other side. I’m sure that most of them, given a pew, would naturally indulge in something more substantial than the moreish wasabi peas, pistachio nuts or twiglets currently stoking their appetites.

The blackboard menu spans the realms of pub grub, a step above standard but not in gastro league, with starters of homemade butternut soup, goats cheese salad or chicken liver pate served in generous portions; each a meal in itself. The fishcakes are hearty potatoey stodge, lacking fish and smothered in sauce - they sell out regularly so can’t be all bad. A peculiar, pungent sauce arrives with our salmon fillet and the lamb salad with mint dressing seemed more like Sunday lunch leftovers than an evening meal.

But the Scarsdale is about atmosphere, not fine dining. If you stick to the burgers, steaks, pies or nachos you’re safe; they seldom leave anything but a clean plate behind them. Venture onto the more elaborate main course combinations and love the place as I do, I have to confess there is room for disappointment.

Guest wines, such as the Beaujolais, occasionally appear at the bar as addition to the concise, wallet friendly house list. And tall elegant brown bottles of Aspall’s Suffolk Cider will tempt even the most abstemious visitor.

I reaslie, reading this back, that the Scarsdale sounds like any number of neighbourhood London pubs. I can’t quite put my finger on why it has such strong pulling power - perhaps it’s just because it’s my local and your own local is always unsurpassable.

The only serious complaint is that closing time always comes far too early.



The Scarsdale Tavern
23 Edwardes Square
London W8
020 7937 1811

Noodle Noodle

The name isn’t great is it? It doesn’t really inspire you to go inside and test out their offerings. Take any other cuisine and it gets all the more ridiculous – a restaurant called ‘rice, rice’, ‘spaghetti, spaghetti’ or ‘pie, pie’ doesn’t work either but maybe I’m being unimaginative.

Name aside this oriental canteen just north of Victoria station is quite an exciting find. It’s the sort of place you walk past a hundred times without even thinking of going inside. Away from the lunch time chaos, it turns out it’s worth spending a pound or two more than you would in Eat or Pret for an excuse to sit down and chatter over bowls of spicy pad thai, chicken-katsu curry or ramen soup.

Big beakers of juice arrive at the table in record speed and after our order is taken generous portions of fragrant fodder follow close behind. My Tom-Yum soup (£5.95) comes in a cavernous china bowl. Fine rice noodles swim in flavourful spiced stock along with tender poached chicken, spring onions, bean sprouts and a chunk of lemon which leaves a tangy punch. On a cold day like today this is comforting, with a hangover it would be cleansing and really, there are few days that this classic concoction wouldn’t be well received.

Jess, who introduced me to this little place, has spicy fried chicken (£7.95)which arrives with sticky rice and a thick, weirdly bright, sauce. The crunchy crumbed fillet is well received though and judging by the empty plates flying back to the kitchen from all corners the chefs have got the lunch time formula pretty much spot on. Mountainous piles of wok fried noodles, plates of steaming dim sum and all sorts of soups magically disappeared all around us.

Noodle Noodle isn’t gourmet, the ingredients aren’t sourced from suppliers in rolling English valleys and there’s no way the waiters know the provenance of the chicken on your plate but it’s fresh, healthy, quick and satisfying. In comparison to the array of high street vendors offering their latest attention grabbing sandwich it beats them hands down.



Noodle Noodle
16-18 Buckingham Palace Road
London SW1W 0QP
020 7931 9911
http://www.noodle-noodle.co.uk/

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/

Monachyle Mhor

Driving through a meandering Trossachs valley in central Scotland last weekend we started to wonder what would greet us as the winding road narrowed and civilisation faded away. The mirrored watery surface of Loch Voil reflected it’s steep mountainous sides and bright blue skies in mesmeric perfection as we hungrily sped towards our lunch destination, the Monachyle Mhor Hotel.

A family farm and estate since the eighties there has been hospitality on this site for years. Now under the helm of three siblings a small empire has emerged with fifteen bedrooms, a restaurant, farm and two shops in the local town of Callander.

A herd of Tamworth pigs provide pork for the business while devouring the vegetable waste from the kitchen. Eggs come from farmyard chickens and venison from estate deer. Mhor’s website depicts the dream of self sufficient business and having heard so much we were keen to see the results.

Greeted by a friendly border collie and similarly welcoming waitress we sat down at our table, set with colourful discs of Limoges crockery, and gazed through the windows onto the autumnal hillside. From this spot the view became more idyllic with each glance as the dappled afternoon light cast itself over the valley.

The short menu made for easy ordering and our concern over the rich ingredients was short lived.

To start, a frothy rich potato mousse flecked with truffle encircled a perfectly soft egg presumably plucked from underneath one of the chickens clucking not far away. The attention grabbing presentation made the unusual texture and distinctive flavour of the mousse all the more memorable.

And next an equally pretty plate of pigs cheek tortellini, tender monkfish tail, apple and sage sauce. My father had meltingly tender guinea fowl shaped into perfect cylindrical discs and served with wild mushrooms and foie gras.

The food was tantalising, making us wonder at the technical composition of the dishes and admire the combination of such strong flavours which produced such a subtle and balanced result.

By the time we finished with a simple cafetiere and perfectly made tablet our reservations over the hefty price tags had left us. Mhor is not cheap but it is worth the pennies to experience this magical example of all that can be made of Scotland’s ingredients.

Driving back through Callander we stopped at their well stocked bakery and picked up crumbly sweet bannocks and wholemeal bread from another happy Mhor employee. Our breakfast at home was all the better for it, the Mhor baking easily matches up to the standard in their restaurant.


Monachyle Mhor Hotel
Balquhidder
Lochearnhead
Perthshire
FK19 8PQ
01877 384 622
http://www.mhor.net/

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/