Smokestak

Fans of London’s street food scene – and let’s face it, who isn’t? – will already be familiar with Smokestak from Street Feast Dalston Yard (now at Dinerama) and the legendary beef brisket buns with pickled red chillies.

Well, David Carter has come in out of the cold and opened a bricks-and-mortar version off Brick Lane on Sclater Street E1. I would say that you can't miss it, but we watched many a perplexed punter wander past the forbidding Game of Thrones-esque door and only return once they had failed to find anything more welcoming. If you get lost, just follow your nose.

The doors set the scene for the brooding industrial interior  - smoky concrete walls, exposed pipes and towering windows, this is about as masculine as a restaurant can get. Everything about it is big, solid and no-nonsense, either wood, steel, or matt black, and the focus of it all is the huge four and a half tonne smoker brought over from Houston.

That said, the general vibe is really warm and relaxed - unusual in such a new restaurant (it had only been open ten days when we went). The staff were charming, friendly and just attentive enough, never rushing us but always busy. Carter himself was the still centre of the storm, stationed calmly at the bar with his laptop, advising chefs and front of house staff as and when needed.

We were waiting for stragglers at our table (yep, you know who you are . . . ) so we early birds ordered a couple of cocktails and a cheeky little starter to keep us going. We opted for the smoked girolles on beef dripping toast which turned out to be a phenomenally good call; robust, punchy, with real depth of flavour, this set the scene for the rest of the meal. Do NOT miss this. You can thank me later.

The cocktails were pretty good too; I had the Smoke (rude not to, really, given the theme) with tequila, smoke, lime and ginger, and my companion had the Burnt Peach Old Fashioned, a great take on the classic with bourbon, burnt peach, warm spices and bitters. 

The boys arrived and we went for a bottle of the recommended red wine and the 40ft pale ale. To go with, we ordered scratchings; this turned out to be huge light-as-air swirls of crispy skin, a great appetiser for what was to come.

I lived in Texas for a couple of years (yeah, it's a long story) and this was a return to the larger than life barbecue fare I remember - and then some. Texans love their beef, and take their barbecues very seriously. Politics? Sport? Religion? Tackle a Texan about what kind of wood chips to use, what spices to include in the rub or how long is long enough and you could find yourself at the wrong end of the second amendment.

For mains, we had the beef brisket, which I was happy to see arrive with a sprinkling of the pickled red chillies on the side, and the pork ribs with pickled cucumber. The beef was exceptional; meltingly tender and perfectly seasoned even without the barbecue sauce, and great with the zing of the chillies.

The thick-cut pork ribs were also really good; chunky, succulent and delicious.

Opinion was more divided on the sides: the roasted carrots got a universal thumbs up, same for the wonderfully fresh and crisp celery, almond and preserved lemon slaw, which was so much more than a sum of its parts.

The grilled baby gem lettuce with bacon and walnut gremolata was okay, but I felt its flavours were fighting with the meat mains, which was a contest it was never going to win. The jacket potato with sour cream and chive was the troublemaker; three of us, myself included, loved it but one of us wasn't a fan of the texture - a smooth, almost pureed potato and sour cream mix in a crispy skin.

I'm sad I didn't get to try the salt-baked beetroot . . . next time!

So gluttonously on to puddings. We tried the sticky toffee pudding, which was judged to be everything one would want from the dish, and I was hoping to try the toasted oak ice cream with salted hazelnut praline but unfortunately they were out of the ice cream so I had to have the burnt butter ice cream instead. This was good, but now I have yet another reason to go back . . .

Yours, addicted to smoking,

Girl About Town xx

Hawksmoor Air Street

 As regulars amongst my lovely readers will know, I am a firm fan of Hawksmoor: their truly excellent steaks, laid-back atmosphere, quirky cocktail list and, of course, their cornflake ice cream. But much as I do love a meltingly rare steak with the now ubiquitous triple-cooked chips and some fierce English mustard, I also have a passion for seafood. So, I headed off to Hawksmoor's Air Street restaurant to see if this really could be the best of both worlds.

You may think me unwise to choose a celebrated steak restaurant for a seafood feeding frenzy and normally you would be right; however, at Air Street the seafood is not just an add-on afterthought but is fully half of the menu. Hawksmoor's steak-by-weight options are still on the chalkboard, but carnivore favourites like the burgers have made way for turbot, monkfish and Dover sole. And in case you're wondering what experts in sourcing and cooking beef would know about fish, cue a man who does - award-winning chef, restaurateur and fishmonger Mitch Tonks, who not only offers an advisory hand but also sources their seafood straight from Brixham market in Devon.

The entrance is tucked Harry Potter-like into the chunky stone facade of the Piccadilly/Regent Street stretch of Air Street. Once inside, a curving staircase leads to a welcoming bar area (strewn with Sunday papers on our early evening visit) and an unexpectedly large Art Deco dining room, capable of seating over two hundred diners either in booths or at tables made from reclaimed school desks. (Remember those inky compass-point etchings in desktops? Well now they're cool, not cause for detention.) 

The room is undeniably stylish, with a gorgeous light above the staircase and wonderfully atmospheric stained glass windows between you and the heart of London, but has quite a low ceiling which makes for tricky acoustics and some background noise (don't worry though, it adds to the buzz and very young visitors are usually seated at one end of the room).

We decided to start with half a Dartmouth lobster - cooked in a specialist high-pressure steamer, we are told - and roast scallops with white port and garlic. Once the disturbingly surgical implements for lobster-mining had been carefully laid before us we turned to the wine list, which is varied and not exorbitantly priced; £40 will get you a choice of over thirty bottles of wine, including a Prosecco and three Hawksmoor recommended wines. We were pacing ourselves for the evening so decided to go for wine by the glass; a 2003 Muscadet with good depth and a bracingly crisp Picpoul de Pinet, one of my unsung summer favourites and an excellent choice by the glass or bottle as it goes with pretty much any fish or seafood.

Both starters were delicious; the lobster was sweet and moist with plenty of meat and the scallops were equally firm and flavoursome. A standard portion has three scallops but, as we were sharing both starters, our waitress offered to bump this up to four - presumably to prevent tears and a general falling-out. Our waitress, by the way, was excellent: knowledgeable, experienced, attentive but not intrusive, warm and friendly. 

One gentle word of warning; she was also one of the best up-sellers I have met, so if you are on a budget, do be careful - the relaxed atmosphere can lead you to accept those expert and friendly suggestions on sides, drinks and main course choices that together can really add to your bill (the possibly obvious but unmentioned fiver for the extra scallop, for example). In a restaurant of this quality even the cheapest wines will still be good, and you really don't have to go overboard with the sides; the mains are protein-heavy and very filling and hey, you can always order more if you need to.

So, back to the feast. For the main we plumped for the monkfish which was creamy, firm and delicious, grilled over charcoal in signature Hawksmoor fashion. In honour of spring finally having sprung, we teamed it with some Jersey Royal potatoes and a generous dish of spinach with lemon and garlic; perfection. I have no idea how my partner-in-crime managed to find room for sticky toffee pudding to follow, but all I could squeeze in was a single scoop of ice cream. I was prepared to settle for salted caramel or clotted cream (it's a burden I bear for you, dear reader) until, having casually mentioned to our waitress that I was disappointed not to see their signature cornflake ice cream on the menu, she managed to sneak me a scoop from the bar, where they use it to make the cornflake milkshakes (yes, really). 

The pudding was everything you would hope; comfortingly rich yet light and fluffy, served with ice cream. The cornflake ice cream was what it says on the tin; again I wondered, why didn't anybody think of this before? It's a genius combination.

If you had any doubts that the Hawksmoor guys would be able to reach the bar they set very high with their previous restaurants, then let me put your minds at ease. The only problem now is how I explain why I'm sending people to a steakhouse for some of the best fish in London. 

Yours, with another 'Hats off!' to Hawksmoor,

Girl About Town xx

Hawksmoor Seven Dials

It's not every day I get to try a top-twenty UK restaurant (eighteenth according to last year's National Restaurant Awards) but hooray for birthdays, as on mine I got treated to dinner at Hawksmoor Seven Dials - happy days!
http://thehawksmoor.com/

If you're eating at the Hawksmoor, you're eating steak. I had therefore thought my customary faffing around over the menu and angsting over meal envy wouldn't be an issue, having forgotten about their legendary cocktail list. Reminiscent of a time when cocktails were considered practically medicinal rather than served in fish bowls with umbrellas and sparklers, the list is divided into wonderfully-titled sections such as Antifogmatics and Pre-prandials, with fascinating little historical snippets about each drink. (The bar serves these with food from either the main menu or their bar food menu, which includes burgers, hot dogs and a whole grilled lobster in a bun with a side of Béarnaise. In Arnie's immortal words, I'll be back.)

I eventually went for a Fancy Gin Cocktail (precursor of the martini, apparently, and delicious) before turning to thoughts of food. With steak as the main event, we chose a supporting cast we thought would complement it: dressed crab to start, Heritage tomato salad and triple-cooked chips to go with and peppercorn sauce on the side. The staff are attentive in that chilled, laid-back way I prefer and very knowledgeable, happy to advise on which cuts of steak are better cooked rare or medium and to help navigate their eclectic wine list. 

The £12 crab starter was comfortably enough for two people to share, particularly with a slab of steak on the horizon; impressive chunks of moist white meat on a base of dark, served with big slices of toasted sourdough bread. I love crab and as a regular visitor to Cornwall I have high expectations but this did not disappoint.

I had the fillet cooked rare to follow; this was awesomely good, the charcoal grill really adding texture and bringing out its full flavour, the meat just meltingly tender. Hawksmoor steaks come from Longhorn cattle (Heston Blumenthal's breed of choice for steak), reared by the incomparable Ginger Pig and dry-aged for 35 days; all I can say is that it is totally worth it. This was probably the best steak I have had in London  (there is a place in Argentina that carves it with a spoon, but that's another story). Right here, right now, Hawksmoor is where it's at. The chips are also excellent and the colourful tomato salad added just the right note of freshness and balance, aided and abetted by a glass or two of Syrah.

I don't normally do pudding - sweet enough, me - but didn't take much arm-twisting to try the intriguing option of cornflake jelly and ice cream. I was ambivalent about the jelly, but the ice cream was unexpectedly good; it sounds faddy, but the flavours really work. (Apparently they also do cornflake milkshakes, and why not? Bagsie me one of those on the next visit.) And bless, they not only wrote Happy Birthday round the edge in chocolate and served it with a candle, they were endearingly discreet about it. Hawksmoor, you're a class act.

Yours, another year on, 

Girl About Town xx

(Thank you for my cards guys - anyone see a theme?) :)

 

Gormley at the White Cube, plus a little Cock and Bull

As a fan of contemporary art, Antony Gormley rates as one of my top three living artists; his incredible Blind Light at the Hayward in 2007 is still my favourite exhibition of all time. I also love the White Cube gallery in Hoxton Square; as it says on the tin, it's a very manageable 2000 square feet of pure, clean white space which has hosted the very best of modern British art since opening in April 2000.
http://whitecube.com/

Imagine then, dear reader, my joy at discovering Still Standing, an Antony Gormley exhibition in that very gallery until mid-September. Still Standing features Gormley's familiar body forms, but this time constructed from small rectangular cast-iron blocks. In the White Cube they can be viewed from different perspectives as you walk amongst them, with nothing to interrupt or impose upon your experience. Entry is free- check the website for opening hours.

Friends who may not be that into art and would moan and groan at the prospect of a trip to the Tate or the National can usually be cajoled into ten or fifteen minutes at the White Cube - particularly as there are some fabulous eateries dotted around the area. On this occasion I had a particular venue in mind; the latest venture from top British chef and Midas-touch restaurateur, Mark Hix.
http://www.chickenandsteak.co.uk/

The Tramshed (so-called because it is housed in an utterly gorgeous high-ceilinged building that was once a tramway generating station) is a three-minute stroll away and has been hitting the headlines because of its main course menu. Not because it is too confusing, or esoteric, or self- congratulatory, but because you basically have two options: steak and chips, or chicken and chips. End of. My companion looked quizzically at the menu and said, 'What do you do if you're a vegetarian?' The answer? Eat somewhere else.

Hix's pal Damien Hirst has supplied two specially-commissioned pieces; a vitrine of a cow and a cockerel (entitled, appropriately, Cock and Bull) dominating the main floor, and a huge Cow and Chicken cartoon on the upper section - are you getting the common theme yet?
Hix haters have been rubbing their hands together in schadenfreude-fuelled glee, predicting that Hix has overstepped himself and will come a cropper over Tramshed. I'm not so sure.

On my visit we opted for the chicken, deciding to skip the three-dish starter sharing plate as we had been warned that the chicken could easily feed three people; they were right, it could.  It arrived upright, claws intact and legs theatrically to the sky, topped with a ball of stuffing and surrounded by a mound of chips finished in chicken fat and rosemary. The staff were delightful and happily carved for us (returning at regular intervals rather than carving it all at once so that it didn't get cold) and the chicken itself was delicious; juicy, flavoursome meat under a seasoned crispy skin. We shared a bottle of the Tramshed red, a light lunchtimey red designed to complement both main course options, and didn't have room for dessert. 

Tramshed also has a gallery called Cock 'n' Bull in the basement which I didn't get a chance to visit, but really want to: as well as traditional viewing space they are building a unique library based on the recommendations of experts in given fields - say, Alice Temperley and Jacquetta Wheeler on fashion. This is a really exciting idea and I'm looking forward to following it as it grows.

So, am I coming back to the Tramshed? You betcha. Anywhere that serves food this good, showcases British art, and puts the soap and hand cream in the ladies' loo in squeezy udders instead of boring plastic bottles has my vote. And anyway, I haven't tried the steak.

You can have anything you want, as long as it's cow or chicken. Hix, we salute you.

Yours carnivorously,

Girl About Town xx