Lantana
13 Charlotte Place
Fitzrovia
London W1T 1SN
020 7637 3347
www.scramblingeggs.blogspot.com
by Blake Pudding
I’ll start with the food because the food is good. Lantana bills itself as a little bit of Australia in Fitrovia. By this they mean the new Australia of good coffee and Baz Luhrman rather than piss-poor lager and Paul Hogan. I ordered ricotta pancakes with baked fruit and yoghurt. This was pudding and an excellent pudding at that, with beautifully cooked pears and autumn berries. I was with John O’ Connell, regular breakfast companion and writer; he had smoked salmon and scrambled eggs. The eggs were properly scrambled, not mashed up omelette like you get in America, and the salmon tasted, according to John, organic. It came with delightfully fluffy bread and salad. Salad for breakfast? Only in the new Australia!
So modern is Lantana that there was a media presentation happening when we arrived so we had to wait outside. Once the media team had filed out in their flared jeans and flat brown shoes like 2nd division footballers on a night out we made to go in but John was stopped by the “terrible acoustic serenading” coming from within. The waitress asked if we were coming in, John said do you mind if we wait outside until the music was turned down. “You can do what you like mate,” replied our waitress sounding a bit like Alf from Home and Away.
Friday, October 31, 2008
Wednesday, October 29, 2008
Green and Fortune Cafe, Kings Cross
Green and Fortune Cafe
Kings Place
York Way
Kings Cross
N1 9AG
020 7014 2840
www.kingsplace.co.uk/food-drink/cafe
by Hashley Brown
Trout in the morning is not one of my usual breakfastly ambitions, but today the trout in question was lightly griddled into a set of variations by Franz Schubert, from his perky lieder Die Forelle. Served by the Schubert Ensemble this seems to be what they do for morning entertainment at Kings Cross's latest architectural triumph.
Let's take a step back. Kings Place, soon to be a new home to the Guardian and the London Sinfonietta amongst others, was having a bit of a party to celebrate its glass and steel entrance into the world. Packed full of art, music, restaurants and, well, liberal lefty office tenants, this is the new face of the arse-end of York Way, and by means of an introduction they were putting on 100 concerts in 5 days. Trotting down on the vélo, I'd picked a morning recital to experience the acoustics of the new halls and for a spot of Friday morning elevation before the first wearisome meeting of the day. I knew that the music would be impeccable, and had heard that the acoustics were sparkly, but what I hadn't banked on was the breakfast.
Green and Fortune is the umbrella corp set up to man the food decks for Kings Place, and their cafe sits prettily in a corner of the building's central atrium. The breakfast selection glistening on a hot-plate offered plump cumberland sausages and thick cut cumbrian bacon as well as a veggie flat mushroom and grilled tomato combo. Ever the glutton I combined the veggie option with the bacon and watched with glee as they split a fresh crusty roll and applied liberal amounts of real butter before cramming in the fillings. This was quite some roll, absolutely top notch ingredients that had suffered not one bit for sitting out on display. The nicely smoked bacon was rich in flavour, the mushroom was suitably earthy and the tomato, as well as exploding down my shirt, was grilled to a succulent softness. Capped with a dark brooding latte and coming in at just under a fiver, there really was no better way to prepare for the breakfast trout that followed.
Kings Place
York Way
Kings Cross
N1 9AG
020 7014 2840
www.kingsplace.co.uk/food-drink/cafe
by Hashley Brown
Trout in the morning is not one of my usual breakfastly ambitions, but today the trout in question was lightly griddled into a set of variations by Franz Schubert, from his perky lieder Die Forelle. Served by the Schubert Ensemble this seems to be what they do for morning entertainment at Kings Cross's latest architectural triumph.
Let's take a step back. Kings Place, soon to be a new home to the Guardian and the London Sinfonietta amongst others, was having a bit of a party to celebrate its glass and steel entrance into the world. Packed full of art, music, restaurants and, well, liberal lefty office tenants, this is the new face of the arse-end of York Way, and by means of an introduction they were putting on 100 concerts in 5 days. Trotting down on the vélo, I'd picked a morning recital to experience the acoustics of the new halls and for a spot of Friday morning elevation before the first wearisome meeting of the day. I knew that the music would be impeccable, and had heard that the acoustics were sparkly, but what I hadn't banked on was the breakfast.
Green and Fortune is the umbrella corp set up to man the food decks for Kings Place, and their cafe sits prettily in a corner of the building's central atrium. The breakfast selection glistening on a hot-plate offered plump cumberland sausages and thick cut cumbrian bacon as well as a veggie flat mushroom and grilled tomato combo. Ever the glutton I combined the veggie option with the bacon and watched with glee as they split a fresh crusty roll and applied liberal amounts of real butter before cramming in the fillings. This was quite some roll, absolutely top notch ingredients that had suffered not one bit for sitting out on display. The nicely smoked bacon was rich in flavour, the mushroom was suitably earthy and the tomato, as well as exploding down my shirt, was grilled to a succulent softness. Capped with a dark brooding latte and coming in at just under a fiver, there really was no better way to prepare for the breakfast trout that followed.
Friday, October 24, 2008
Jellystone Park, Pennsylvania, USA
Jellystone Park
P.O. Box 91
Mill Run, Pa. 15464
1-800-HEY-YOGI
www.jellystonemillrun.com
By T. N. Toost
We hadn’t planned on camping, much less at a Yogi Bear-themed campground. However, she had wanted to see Fallingwater, we’d arrived after it had shut and we were 200 miles from home. Camping was cheap and somehow made sense despite the fact that we didn’t have a tent or sleeping bags. Four hours, three lagers and a half-bottle of Boone’s Farm later, I was making out with a 23-year-old semi-crippled Kosovar architect on the roof of my car, denting it. We awoke in two extraordinarily uncomfortable positions.
I entered the restaurant while she made her face. A family large in number and girth ate in the middle of the room as Fox News blared on a 1980s colour television about Russia invading Georgia. I sat in the corner and suddenly realised that the fact that everything in the park was Yogi Bear-themed wasn’t the weird part – it was that all of the Yogi Bear-themed crap, from the bear in the corner to the gingham curtains, was decorated as if it was Halloween. In early August. Science fiction pretends that people suddenly thrust into new worlds find it difficult to adjust; really, we respond daily to absurd situations with remarkable adaptability. Weak coffee occupied my hands as I tried to focus and she limped in.
Three rubbery eggs, well-spiced, firm sausage, perfectly crisp hash browns, tinned mushrooms, green peppers, fresh tomato chunks, American cheese, wheat toast and grease formed the “mess.” At first, everything blended together grotesquely, but then I started to realise that the combination was actually perfectly balanced. The American cheese, which stuck to the roof of my mouth, could be scraped away by the potatoes, and the eggs, sub-par alone, were somehow excellent when wrapped intimately around the sausage. When I was done, a puddle of grease remained, fully coating the bottom of the plate. At $5.99, the mess was a steal.
We paid. Twenty minutes later, she slipped and fell in the water at Fallingwater, then spent four hours in my car in soaking jeans. When I dropped her off there was no goodbye kiss; instead I helped her with her crutches and watched her stumble into her apartment building. When she was safely inside, fifty metres and three layers of glass away, and I didn’t have to be self-conscious, I let out a long, satisfying fart and thought of Yogi, Cindy and Boo Boo.
P.O. Box 91
Mill Run, Pa. 15464
1-800-HEY-YOGI
www.jellystonemillrun.com
By T. N. Toost
We hadn’t planned on camping, much less at a Yogi Bear-themed campground. However, she had wanted to see Fallingwater, we’d arrived after it had shut and we were 200 miles from home. Camping was cheap and somehow made sense despite the fact that we didn’t have a tent or sleeping bags. Four hours, three lagers and a half-bottle of Boone’s Farm later, I was making out with a 23-year-old semi-crippled Kosovar architect on the roof of my car, denting it. We awoke in two extraordinarily uncomfortable positions.
I entered the restaurant while she made her face. A family large in number and girth ate in the middle of the room as Fox News blared on a 1980s colour television about Russia invading Georgia. I sat in the corner and suddenly realised that the fact that everything in the park was Yogi Bear-themed wasn’t the weird part – it was that all of the Yogi Bear-themed crap, from the bear in the corner to the gingham curtains, was decorated as if it was Halloween. In early August. Science fiction pretends that people suddenly thrust into new worlds find it difficult to adjust; really, we respond daily to absurd situations with remarkable adaptability. Weak coffee occupied my hands as I tried to focus and she limped in.
Three rubbery eggs, well-spiced, firm sausage, perfectly crisp hash browns, tinned mushrooms, green peppers, fresh tomato chunks, American cheese, wheat toast and grease formed the “mess.” At first, everything blended together grotesquely, but then I started to realise that the combination was actually perfectly balanced. The American cheese, which stuck to the roof of my mouth, could be scraped away by the potatoes, and the eggs, sub-par alone, were somehow excellent when wrapped intimately around the sausage. When I was done, a puddle of grease remained, fully coating the bottom of the plate. At $5.99, the mess was a steal.
We paid. Twenty minutes later, she slipped and fell in the water at Fallingwater, then spent four hours in my car in soaking jeans. When I dropped her off there was no goodbye kiss; instead I helped her with her crutches and watched her stumble into her apartment building. When she was safely inside, fifty metres and three layers of glass away, and I didn’t have to be self-conscious, I let out a long, satisfying fart and thought of Yogi, Cindy and Boo Boo.
Friday, October 10, 2008
Davy's Wine Bar, Fitzrovia
Davy’s Wine Bar
Euston Tower
283 Euston Rd
Fitzrovia
NW1 3DP
020 7387 6622
www.davy.co.uk
by Blake Pudding
I think most restaurateurs think that breakfast is easy. Just put a sign outside saying “now open for breakfast” and you can increase your profits without going to the trouble of paying for someone in kitchen. At least I assume that there was no one in the kitchen, if they were then they must have been purely decorative. No, instead I think that Davy’s, in an act of awesome cynicism towards its staff, employed two people to prepare the food and to serve. The unfortunate two ran around producing a lot of sweat, body odour and nervous smiles but not a lot of food.
When the food arrived it was horrible. Only scrambled egg was available so that it could be prepared in the microwave. It tasted like it had been made from a powder and rehydrated. All the food tasted pre-prepared and reheated. The mushrooms were grilled until they were as dry as porcinis. The toast was underdone, soggy and made from that bread that costs 10p a loaf and lasts a month. We had to ask for napkins, condiments, cutlery, butter, in fact everything you would need to make our revolting breakfast edible.
I know that Davy’s would respond that that there were two big groups in that morning – our group of 8 and another of 15 – but both of us had booked, the menu was very short and the two groups were the only customers. A competent cook in greasy spoon would have coped easily but then Davy’s were thinking only of the balance sheet. A memorandum to head office: do not offer breakfast if you’re not going to employ someone to cook it.
Euston Tower
283 Euston Rd
Fitzrovia
NW1 3DP
020 7387 6622
www.davy.co.uk
by Blake Pudding
I think most restaurateurs think that breakfast is easy. Just put a sign outside saying “now open for breakfast” and you can increase your profits without going to the trouble of paying for someone in kitchen. At least I assume that there was no one in the kitchen, if they were then they must have been purely decorative. No, instead I think that Davy’s, in an act of awesome cynicism towards its staff, employed two people to prepare the food and to serve. The unfortunate two ran around producing a lot of sweat, body odour and nervous smiles but not a lot of food.
When the food arrived it was horrible. Only scrambled egg was available so that it could be prepared in the microwave. It tasted like it had been made from a powder and rehydrated. All the food tasted pre-prepared and reheated. The mushrooms were grilled until they were as dry as porcinis. The toast was underdone, soggy and made from that bread that costs 10p a loaf and lasts a month. We had to ask for napkins, condiments, cutlery, butter, in fact everything you would need to make our revolting breakfast edible.
I know that Davy’s would respond that that there were two big groups in that morning – our group of 8 and another of 15 – but both of us had booked, the menu was very short and the two groups were the only customers. A competent cook in greasy spoon would have coped easily but then Davy’s were thinking only of the balance sheet. A memorandum to head office: do not offer breakfast if you’re not going to employ someone to cook it.
Monday, October 06, 2008
Breakfasts and Beds: Bailiffscourt Hotel & Spa, Climping, West Sussex
Bailiffscourt Hotel & Spa
Climping
West Sussex
BN17 5RW
T: +44 (0)1903 723511
by Cher E Jamm
Allow me to set the scene: a lovingly restored country hotel, manicured lawns, peacocks trotting around as if they own the place. Two infinity pools, a hot tub and more spa treatments than you can dream of. Our room is absolutely beautiful with a bathroom the size of your average London one-bedroom flat. S&T’s wedding was very special. Perfect, even.
We stumble to our room full of joy and gin and decide to give breakfast with everyone else a miss and order breakfast in bed. A romantic gesture we rarely have time to bother with in real life. I suspect this is where it went wrong. And so, at 9am, there is a knock at the door and a silver-domed tray is sitting at the end of the bed.
Three croissants sit in a napkin that has been origami’d into a basket. They are solid and empty at the same time, so burnt they’re crispy on the inside. No mini-jars of jam accompany them, just a sad looking pat of butter the size of a 10p coin. The fry up, if one is to call it that, consists of a cold, overcooked poached egg sitting aloft half a small mushroom, herbed breadcrumbs masquerading as a (cocktail) sausage and, surprisingly, the finest, crispiest, tastiest bacon the Jamms have ever squabbled over.
As we arrive in the breakfast room to join our friends three things become clear:
1) A hotel that is overstretched with a private function is not going to make sure that the annoying couple in Room 23 are going to get a decent spread. They have 150 guests to feed the morning after a night that finished at 5am.
2) If you order room service the morning after a friend's wedding instead of joining everyone else, you’re a total moron.
3) We’d missed the boat to breakfast bliss in the form of the Bailiffscourt buffet.
Climping
West Sussex
BN17 5RW
T: +44 (0)1903 723511
by Cher E Jamm
Allow me to set the scene: a lovingly restored country hotel, manicured lawns, peacocks trotting around as if they own the place. Two infinity pools, a hot tub and more spa treatments than you can dream of. Our room is absolutely beautiful with a bathroom the size of your average London one-bedroom flat. S&T’s wedding was very special. Perfect, even.
We stumble to our room full of joy and gin and decide to give breakfast with everyone else a miss and order breakfast in bed. A romantic gesture we rarely have time to bother with in real life. I suspect this is where it went wrong. And so, at 9am, there is a knock at the door and a silver-domed tray is sitting at the end of the bed.
Three croissants sit in a napkin that has been origami’d into a basket. They are solid and empty at the same time, so burnt they’re crispy on the inside. No mini-jars of jam accompany them, just a sad looking pat of butter the size of a 10p coin. The fry up, if one is to call it that, consists of a cold, overcooked poached egg sitting aloft half a small mushroom, herbed breadcrumbs masquerading as a (cocktail) sausage and, surprisingly, the finest, crispiest, tastiest bacon the Jamms have ever squabbled over.
As we arrive in the breakfast room to join our friends three things become clear:
1) A hotel that is overstretched with a private function is not going to make sure that the annoying couple in Room 23 are going to get a decent spread. They have 150 guests to feed the morning after a night that finished at 5am.
2) If you order room service the morning after a friend's wedding instead of joining everyone else, you’re a total moron.
3) We’d missed the boat to breakfast bliss in the form of the Bailiffscourt buffet.
Friday, October 03, 2008
J + A Cafe, Clerkenwell
J + A Cafe
4 Sutton Lane
Clerkenwell
EC1M 5PU
by Moose Lee
Now, I know that some of the LRB massive would argue that a bacon and egg sandwich is not sufficient evidence upon which to judge an entire establishment but, I believe, within this salty microcosm are all the good and bad habits upon which everything else is based.
Questions to ask your Bacon and Egg sandwich:
1) When they slice the sandwich in half (as they surely must) have they cut through the middle of the egg yolk?
The answer should be yes. No-one wants to discover that one half of their sandwich is all work, no play. For me, the yolk had been halved perfectly. The yellow ran in a gooey sunset amid the dark, perfectly crunchy bacon. They’d even made sure the bacon fat was properly cooked.
2) Is the bread the colour and texture of a cloud?
The answer should be yes and, again, yes. I knew they were professionals because, as I took my first bite, the bread retained my finger prints. It turns out J and A bake their own bread, which explains the delicious crusts that I used for wiping up spills.
3) Has it been given the right condiments?
In a world where perfection exists – thanks to Heinz and Daddy – it’s always a risk to go off-piste, condiment-wise. Here they gave me fantastic Tiptree sauces, both red and brown, to use at my discretion. Let me tell you, I abused their good will.
4) Finally, predictably, how much does it cost?
In this case, just over a fiver with a good cup of tea. That stung a little, but not so much that I won’t be back.
Other notes:
Having just recently opened, the staff of J and A Café have the lovely, gushing, slightly embarrassing kindness of a start-up business. They welcomed me warmly, sat me down, took my order promptly and happily let me borrow a pen to write my review on one of their napkins.
4 Sutton Lane
Clerkenwell
EC1M 5PU
by Moose Lee
Now, I know that some of the LRB massive would argue that a bacon and egg sandwich is not sufficient evidence upon which to judge an entire establishment but, I believe, within this salty microcosm are all the good and bad habits upon which everything else is based.
Questions to ask your Bacon and Egg sandwich:
1) When they slice the sandwich in half (as they surely must) have they cut through the middle of the egg yolk?
The answer should be yes. No-one wants to discover that one half of their sandwich is all work, no play. For me, the yolk had been halved perfectly. The yellow ran in a gooey sunset amid the dark, perfectly crunchy bacon. They’d even made sure the bacon fat was properly cooked.
2) Is the bread the colour and texture of a cloud?
The answer should be yes and, again, yes. I knew they were professionals because, as I took my first bite, the bread retained my finger prints. It turns out J and A bake their own bread, which explains the delicious crusts that I used for wiping up spills.
3) Has it been given the right condiments?
In a world where perfection exists – thanks to Heinz and Daddy – it’s always a risk to go off-piste, condiment-wise. Here they gave me fantastic Tiptree sauces, both red and brown, to use at my discretion. Let me tell you, I abused their good will.
4) Finally, predictably, how much does it cost?
In this case, just over a fiver with a good cup of tea. That stung a little, but not so much that I won’t be back.
Other notes:
Having just recently opened, the staff of J and A Café have the lovely, gushing, slightly embarrassing kindness of a start-up business. They welcomed me warmly, sat me down, took my order promptly and happily let me borrow a pen to write my review on one of their napkins.
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