Across the River Styx (or Acheron to be accurate) Charon ferries the souls of the newly dead to the Gates of Hades where the three-headed dog, Cerberus, stands guard to prevent those who have crossed from escaping. As I walk over the pelican crossing at the Albion Road end of Newington Green a solitary pitbull, milling around on an ownerless leash, is all that guards the escape route from The Gate, an ex-champagne bar where the breakfasts could have been the inspiration for the title of a popular reality-cooking TV show.
We ordered eggs benedict and an omlette waiting a long time, presumably as Charon moored his boat and ran into trouble putting his apron on in the kitchen. The hard-yolked eggs in the eggs benedict came on two charred logs instead of the usual muffin and were covered in a strange, sweet, congealed custard. I asked if this was definitely the eggs benedict and the waitress disappeared for a while before informing me that Charon prefers custard on his poached eggs. I was thinking that the eggs might have an afterlife if I could free them from their custard jackets when I was shown an escape route by my omlette ordering friend: the omlette had big pieces of broken eggshell cooked into it. Surely even Charon doesn't like his omlettes this crunchy? We inquired and were told he didn't. They offered us something else off the menu but we declined and headed for the exit - not everyone gets to cross the Styx in both directions without paying.
The Gate, 11 Albion Road, N16 9PX
Thursday, 30 April 2009
Tuesday, 21 April 2009
Cay Tre, Vietnamese, Old Street
Graham Greene's Quiet American is set in steamy, 1950s Vietnam. Old Street's Loud American was sat in the corner of Cay Tre on a balmy spring evening in Hoxton. Luckily, for everyone else in the restaurant the food here is so good its impervious to noise pollution.
I started with a fresh, tangy lotus leaf salad with generous slices of pork and tiger prawn and some DIY fun via beef wrapped in rice paper - thin slices of sirloin that you cook on a portable griddle at your table and parcel up inside rice pancakes softened in a bowl of hot water and stuffed with rice vermicelli, pickles and chili fish sauce. Next I had what the menu translated as "Wicked" Frogs legs. They weren't burnt alive at the stake but they were battered and boiled in oil and actually tasted pretty well behaved as well as being abnormally large: think Stuart Pearce's thighs but miniaturised. More Pyscho than wicked.
The unquiet American did have one use: He spent so long talking about the Hannoi Pillows I ordered some. These sweet, crispy dumplings stuffed with crab and minced pork were excellent so I owe him for that though I couldn't help hoping that perhaps he'd move a thousand kilometres south-west and try out the Bangkok Hilton for his next course.
Desserts were tricky. I was torn between the "pyramidal glutinous rice cake" and the Durian and tapioca cake. Thankfully, I had a flashback to the time when a friend brought back some Durian sweets from a trip to Malaysia. The Durian is one of the foulest smelling fruits on the planet and even when processed into sweets the experience of eating it is gag-inducing. So I just imagined ordering it and sending it over to my American friend. Compared to the sticky end that befalls Greene's American he would have probably been getting off lightly.
Cay Tre, 301 Old Street, EC1V 9LA
Oishiii: Not quite a "Noh" show
For anyone who hasn't endured the centuries old Japanese theatre experience that is "Noh" its slow paced, long and nothing much happens. To get an idea of the pace imagine a film of two bicyclists in a slow-race, neck to neck at a traffic light that's stuck on red. Now play it back frame by frame for a couple of hours and you'll be approaching the speed of Noh.
When I sat down in Oishiii the audience on the next table were obviously experiencing their own taste of Noh theatre in the form of a slow-motion sushi they ordered earlier that day that had gone missing somewhere between acts 1 and 5. Noh actors traditionally don't rehearse together, waiting until they are in the live show before they have their first interaction with the rest of the cast. The service at Oishiii had a similar feel, although to be fair this was probably to be expected given it was opening week.
To the frustration of the next table our order turned up pretty quickly and before theirs. The sashimi was well presented and tasted ok. The sushi was more baltic than Japanese. Tokyo landlords may serve their draft beer so cold it has miniature icebergs floating in the head (to hide the taste of the chemicals needed to cope with the much slower turnover times in Japan, apparently) but sushi this cold reminded me of the semi-frozen fish stuck solid on little square snowballs of iced-rice in an over-refrigerated Tesco Express. I soon had the idea that maybe I could thaw mine out by holding it against a flask of hot sake. Not that I needed an excuse to order one.
In Lost in Translation Bill Murray never gets the chance to visit a Noh theatre - he's only there for a few days and I guess he'd rather be drinking his Suntory and keeping an eye on Scarlett than watching a masked warrior move at turtle-neck speed. If they'd extended the film for a few more minutes he might have chanced it though he'd probably need a sequel to fit in a visit to Oishiii. I wouldn't write this restaurant off just yet as its only just opened but I will leave it a while until my next visit and hopefully they will have sorted out their show by then.
Oishiii - Church Street, Stoke Newington
Horton Jupiter's Secret Ingredient: He came from the stars I saw him
You've probably never seen anyone run into a room brandishing a broccoli with as much enthusiasm as Horton Jupiter.
From the moment we arrived in the "waiting room" ( some old sofas in a back garden somewhere in Hackney) for the evening's second sitting at Horton's place we had a feeling it was going to be fun. We could see Horton moving like a white-coated ninja through a steamy kitchen window as he transformed vegetables into a multi-coursed Japanese meal. As the previous sitting departed with big smiles Horton showed us into his front room where we joined 8 other guests under mellow lights, eating intricately prepared courses of vegetables and pickles off mirrored plates (Horton is a rock star after all). The meal was topped of with bowls of miso, sticky rice and sweet, hot sake.
I'd walked past this place every day on the way to work and as I left it made me wonder what else was going on in the backstreet flats of Hackney...
To meet Horton (and his helper)...
and check out Horton's band...
...with the video of Sister Moon starring Horton, David Bowie and Iggy Pop
The Underground Restaurant, Kilburn: Ms MarmiteLover - a gorilla in our midst
The venue itself is great. Big wooden floored living room, good lighting. "Interesting" cocktail on arrival: fizzy wine and blue curacao in which was floating something best described as synthetic frogspawn. This didn't taste good but was fun nevertheless. Decent starter (big mushroom) but with the long-awaited main course it started to go downhill...
Ms MarmiteLover on a tour of the tables set up in her living room: "What do you think of the food?"
Me: "Er -"
Ms M-L "Yes its great isn't it! I didn't think the pasta in a bag would work so well but its excellent even if I say so myself"
...and with that she leapt to the next table to stomp on another guest before they could reply. I heard her tell 4 more tables how great her food was and tuned her out at that point.
If I'd been able to get a word in edgeways my reply would have gone something like this:
1) No, the food wasn't great. The pasta in a bag was a bit boring and the bag didn't add much other than an hour wait between starter and main course.
2) I'd rather walk into a working mens club and order a pint of malibu and milk than eat a second spoonful of the white chocolate and malibu trifle. It didn't even pass the "sound of good suction" test as we scooped it out.
3) There are better ways to charge 5 quid corkage per bottle than making guests feel like they're being waited on by Dick Turpin.
Maybe we were unlucky with the food - the menu changes every week - but if you want guerilla dining that's memorable for the right reasons better to check out Horton's place.
Ms Marmite's location is obviously secret, which isn't a bad thing
TINA WE SALUTE YOU...and your coffee
TINA WE SALUTE YOU...and your coffee
Last time I had a latte as good as this was in Byron Bay. Actually, take away the sun and sea and this was better. Locally roasted Square Mile coffee (tastier than Illy) and a thick, marbled head of foam worthy of a pint of guinness that my sugar took over a minute to melt through. Unusually, the decaff was just as good as the full-caff and for anyone who wants soya milk they use Bon-soy, one of the best soya milks around. No loyalty cards here - just get them to write your name on the wall and rack up felt-tip stars for your free one. Crumpets and cakes good too. Staff were great and were genuinely having fun (unlike those moody ones at the Lemon Monkey)
47 King Henry's Walk, N1 4NH
if you like the art at Tina's it might be worth popping in for a party at Peter, Bjorn and John's flat...
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