Spring evening in Soho....The Coach and Blacks.

Ahhh.. a sunny London evening. Most residents of this metropolis go and sit in parks. Clothing is shed, millions of yacking international language students appear from nowhere and deport themselves across Soho Square. The tendency is exterior and predominantly park life. For those who cannot be bothered or with hay fever the alternative is to loiter outside a pub getting in peoples way. Yours truly opted for the middle way, inside a pub and surrounded by natural substances. Well wood counts, and there is something organic about the Coach and Horses. Or rather the clientele. I like the fact you can usually sit down. We did next to two charming ladies, one of whom was wearing excellent shoes and was an expert on Moth execution. It is, in case you dandy types had forgotten, also the beginning of Moth Apocolypse season. Remember it is them or your cashmere. The bearded one declared himself to be well pleased to be back in Soho....

We were on our way to meet Sue and Steve who were taking us to Blacks, the private members club in Dean Street. I like Blacks far better than its close neighbours, the Groucho and Soho House. Partially because it has let us into the bar when desperate and also because it still has a feel of being Georgian rather than an ambitious boutique hotel in the Home Counties. The membership also has a louche edge, perhaps because the odd ex-Colony room type number amongst its members or perhaps because it has a bed in one of the nooks in the upstairs club room. I had however never eaten there. This was the first time also that I had been there earlier on in the evening. The place looks better in the darkness, not because there is any thing wrong with the decor but because at night it has a bibaesqe romance, all dark corners and twinkly lights.


The first thing that struck me on this occasion was how crowded and noisy it was. I put this down to the sudden arrival of sunshine but our host felt that perhaps the membership had grown. It took an hour and a half to get to our table. The company was excellent, and having all been busy we were a bit weary and very hungry by the time we made it. The food was good value for the 25.00 set menu but there could have been more and I felt that the restaurant showed the signs of having been caught unawares and run ragged. I love the dining room decor, lovely dun blue painted wood panelling, sea shell sconces and a large steampunkish geographical instrument doo dad hanging from the ceiling. All very Peter Greenaway meets Congreve, an effect enhanced by the presence of Hogarth prints adorning the walls. Lovely room, shame about the fact that a table behind us was a group of very young, very loud girls. It was like being in the student union bar. Still all this aside I think it is one of the most attractive and charming of the modern private clubs, that it has a distinct charm and I could not fault the company.

Hix,Nick and Dick..cocktails and cold cures.

Early this week I caught a stonking cold, I was recovering from its worst effects when I found myself with a day off work. The alternatives were: a) be sensible, go home, relax, drink herbal tea and aid recovery of my mental and physical capabilities. b) make the most of my liberty and carouse with a good friend in the West End. I didn't go home.

Red Leg's patented cure for all ills: fried veal.

We kicked off with the Wolseley for lunch, the intention being, well the kernel of an intention being, to have something with fruit, or vegetables feeding my recovering immune system. Then it wouldn't matter if I had a large glass of rose. And wine is good for you, surely. Self deception because the Wolseley isn't huge on healthy. Naturally I went for fried veal, but I did have some spinach, in some lovely butter. Did make me feel much better. I think I will eat Wiener Schnitzel immediately upon the arrival of sniffles, or wear it on my head. Having eaten, I did for a nanosecond consider, as it was hailing outside; going home. The nanosecond passed and instead I found myself helping my friend choose chocolates in Fortnums, we were served by a tall callow teenager who looked as if he felt we up to something. Perhaps giggly ladies running amok in Fortnums is unusual..shouldn't be. As we'd got the chocs, we had to get some champagne to go with them and my companion ran a number of choices by me. We plumped for Hix. In my case because I had never been there, I am aware it is really far too trendy for me, I can tell my mum I have seen a chef from the Telly and finally that for me the word 'Hix' sounds comfortably like 'Hicc'.

Sign directing you to the bar at Hix. I'd like it better if the fingers were the other way around.

Hix is on the Picaddilly end of the ever unsalubrious Brewer Street, to get in you have to push a big wooden door that was worryingly like the one that almost killed me at Trinity. The Bar is downstairs and the sign above directs you. The bar itself is a curious room, very high ceilinged compared to most Soho basements. Decor wise it had an eclectic mid-century eclectic shoreditchy vibe. But there were things to like, bar billiards for one: there is nothing quite like the sight of those little shiny wooden mushrooms to cheer you up. The kitchens could be glimpsed through a door to the side of the bar, but the bar itself was long, full of bottles and looked like a working bar. By this I mean the bottles of most of the things might actually come off the shelves occasionally and be used, rather than sitting there being dusted. A bartender I met in Japan complained that he hated the keeping of uneccessary bottles in bars, but you can't trust that lot, all that tatami and minimalism. Hix's bar is manned by a well known bartender called Nick Strangeways who has an uncanny resemblance to the Wynd brothers. He was there whilst we supped our champagne. This was served in champagne bowls which was another good thing about the place, I really don't like flutes, they seem frugal. This gentleman seemed fun and faintly louche, he fell up the stairs whilst saying hello to me and at one point was wearing the top of a monster cocktail shaker on his head. I didn't try any of the cocktails but want to. I liked the place, certainly in the afternoon it was a relaxing establishment. The one annoying little kid kept away from us..more or less...maybe it was aware that we were the kind of women who'd like to to have seen him impaled on a cocktail stick. Will go back, drink some cocktails and have some bar snacks. The bar snacks sounded flamboyant, but I didn't have the presence to nick the bar menu so I can't remember what they were. By that stage the veal, champagne and chocolates had lulled me into a state of cheerful forgetfulness.

Nick Strangeways without cocktail shaker cap fascinator.

Having met up with the bearded one we decided to go further along Brewer Street to Dick Bradsell's bar under the Mexican restaurant El Camino's. This was a contrast to Hix's. Small, intimate and simply decorated,the point here was the range of Margarita type concoctions and Dick himself. A bit of a legend (some of you will remember him from the Atlantic/Colony), but one of those straight forward self-deprecating ones who know they are good at what they do and don't feel the need to go on about it. He is also from the Isle of Wight, one of those places that bad things never come from. I had a good, straightforward Margarita of the kind that I used to knock back during various sojourns in Southern California. I have a photograph of myself behind a mountain of empty glasses in San Francisco's spanish bit and this was a glassful of the same stuff in the same kind of glass. The bearded one is currently testing White Ladys, Dick's one was delicious and well balanced (the sherbet/sharp/boozy ratio is tricky). The place got busier later on. Someone doused me with perfume that must have smelt nice on them, but smelt like loo freshener on me and didn't get on with my tequila at all but I've been covered with worse. Full marks for the music too.

A picture of Dick Bradsell I lifted from t'internet, he is not making a cocktail...

Some people don't know I was once a cocktail bartender myself. It was a long time ago, I am not an expert and don't recall most of the recipes. But I am aware that the extremely busy South London Restaurant I worked in produced good drinks, and at speed. The customers would be three deep from the bar on a Saturday and Sarf Londoners are not an easy clientele, for the best reason; they are fussy. Everything was spotlessly clean, full measures were always used and there was no time for flim-flam. What I find now is a lack of strength/crispness of flavour and a loss of texture. Too much syrup, not the right cream, powdered nutmeg, too much ice in shakers. I don't think cocktails are complicated, but like anything else seemingly simple they are really easy to muff up. There is a skill to making drinks that taste good, look good (and whilst I love a gaudy tropical cocktail and plastic monkeys simple is often best on that front) and don't take 10 minutes to appear. Some famous hotel bars could do with remembering this (yes, the Ritz, I am talking about your dodgy drinks and even dodgier service). Seems that the art of the well made cocktail is being appreciated again and that can only be a very good thing.

And so January rolls on.. Dean Street Townhouse Dining Rooms

Apologies for not writing for a while, various shenanigans have taken up most of my time, most notably my magnum opus aka dissertation had to be polished up, dusted up and handed in. That is once it had received a semi-colonic irrigation from my charming editor. Having been a semi- student for a long time I was suddenly confronted with time, and proceeded to fill it, predictably, with booze.

On the day I handed my literary endeavour in I arranged to meet my friend Karen in her natural environment; Soho. We decided to head for the newest jewel in the Soho House crown, The Dean Street Townhouse, and more specifically it's dining room. I have always been a fan of Soho Houses' fine fries and charming staff but have an aversion to it's brand of interior. I believe that the disaster that is the new interior of Kettners is either a result of inteference from Soho Houses' house designer or influenced by her.

Deciding to first have a quick shufty at the hotel's lobby I was impressed, it looks like part of a Georgian building (which of course it kind of is) and is thus, pleasantly more Samuel Pepys than Jonathan Ross. The Dining Room is also atypical, the overall feel, with red leather banquettes and printed wallpaper is French, but comfortably middle class and respectable rather than Parisian and flighty. The food looked good, even at 3pm it was busy and more vitally, stretching along one side of the dining room was a nice, long, bar. Which was where we deposited ourselves.

The Dean Street Townhouse has been plastered all over the papers, even my mother, who lacks interest in such things, had heard of it. The concern is that it might be packed with those wealthy trolly types who roll into Soho from gawd knows where, which is not a problem, but they are rude, in an unimpressively rude way. Just boorish, unlike the hilariously rude who redeem themselves by shouting 'c***s' at the boorish rude. There is definitely a pecking order of rudeness, with the denizens of the late lamented Colony Rooms at the apex and some of the dodgy types in other Soho clubs at the bottom. When we were there the Dean Street place seemed to be quite free of this, in fact it was quite amiable and jolly. My friend immediately ran into friends which was a good sign. The only celeb was professional Liverpudlian Alexei Sayle who has always seemed an amiable type and the staff were also amiable.. and good. After a couple of Proseccos we were both also very amiable.

I also got the impression that drinking was allowed (sometimes this does not feel as it is the case in Soho's trendier corners), the barman did not mind being winked at, and our shameless claims of being poverty struck, and in my case, a Librarian, did prompt complimentary nuts. We caught up with the lads at various points, were rather well oiled by the time we made it to the French, and quite happy. I don't know what the place is like in the evening or at weekends, for a drink on a weekday afternoon however the Dean Street Townhouse Hotel Dining Rooms were completely sufficient and in fact, very pleasant. I hope to try the resolutely British menu some time soon.

Dean Street Town House Hotel and Dining Room Homepage here:

http://www.deanstreettownhouse.com/

Caffeine fixes in London

One facet of life here in London is that it is hard to get through it on a daily basis without caffeine. Tea refreshes the soul but Coffee is the substance that grabs a pitchfork, pokes you in the back and propells you through the vicissitudes of the daily grind. Unsurprisingly there are a huge number of places waiting to fulfil one's dark liquid desires and also unsurprisingly a lot are peddling vile forms of the liquid. I'm not going to be snobby about the major chains, at least you know what your over-priced cup of heated liquid will contain. I even have to admit to an embarrassing partiality to Starbuck's gingerbread latte and am therefore not a purist. What has come to pass is that increasingly the cafes originally run by Italians, Cypriots and Spaniards are now employing people who don't seem to have any idea of what a coffee should taste like. I blame the Soviet System, I never had a decent cup of coffee in a soviet country and am old enough to have given it a good try. It is galling to see a perfectly good machine with half decent coffee produce, in the hands of an inexpert barrista, a liquid resembling a scalding cup of Thames water.


Having said that there are a quartet of places that I actively seek out for a glass of the dark stuff and I list them below just in case it is of any use to anyone. Of course this reflects a personal taste, I make no claims to a developed palate as anyone aware of my passion for processed cheese and russian salad will attest. These places serve, I think, good tasty coffee. Thats my reason for putting them in my quartet of caffeinous pleasure.

1. The Monmouth Coffee Shop, Borough Market Branch.

Much loved and well known by Notting Hillite foody trendies, the Monmouth cup of white coffee is a lovely creamy confection. Made with organic whole milk using the individual filter and drip style method (shown in the picture above) its coffee is smooth and unctious. Buying it can however be a mare. The staff are lovely but on a busy day a lot of the customers are complete arses. There is an order, pay and wait at the side system which utterly confuses the middle classes. What do they not understand about this system? why do they stand there like idiots and not move aside? Why do they think that their huge baby-carrier is more important than the crowds of other people in the place? Also they pick up other people's drinks, which leads me to believe that despite their braying self confidence they don't know the difference between a white coffee and a capuccino. Despite all of this, it is still worth going to buy the coffee...thats how good it is.

2. Mezzo Cafe, Grand Parade Green Lanes Haringay

Quite a different clientele to the Monmouth (thankfully), the Mezzo is a turkish run cafe that not only purveys good mezze, crepes and sarnies but has, out back, a covered heated Shisha garden. Green Lanes is not well endowed with coffee establishments, perhaps because it is kebab mile (or two or three miles, who knows, that road goes on forever). A dodgy thoroughfare, it has almost as many random nutters as Brixton which means falling into somewhere nice and relaxed is sometimes a relief. Mezzo is situated just after the Sainsburys heading north, it's coffee is good, and very very cheap: £1.20 at the time of writing for a take-out. Turks know how to make beverages, the clue to the decentness of this coffee is grinding it not long before making it. I drink enough of their coffee to get a free cup every week using their loyalty coffee card. It is hot, strong enough and has a rich medium bitter flavour. I cannot help here but digress and suggest that this is the place for breakfast coffee, accompanied by one of their superb meditteranean breakfasts. I'll digress again and point out that their cheesey boregi are really good. They'll even give you a lollipop when you leave if they like you.

3 Sacred Coffee stall in Kingly court, off Carnaby Street.

Sacred is actually a chain of coffee shops but the only one I ever tend to use is the coffee stand in Kingly Court. This is because my hairdresser is based there and her popularity often means a lot of waiting around. This matters not because the salon, which specialises in retro hair increasingly has the feel of a social club because of the intersecting nature of the 'scenes' the clientele inhabit. Additionally I can consume coffee and read back issues of 'Bizarre' which bizarrely always has at least one photograph of a friend within its covers. I'm not sure why the coffee is good, it just is. Probably because it is well made, it is also organic although I have found that although morally reassuring this does not necessarily improve the flavour. Last time I was there the heavens had just opened and the stand was inundated as Kingly Court is under cover and Carnaby Street isn't. The barista was remarkably speedy and the coffee was as good as it always is. When they have time it often has that swirly pattern thing on top, which I like because I am girly.



On a sunny day you can grab a coffee and sit in the court, which although covered is external. There are not as many good places for coffee in that end of Soho as there could be and this place is within easy reach of both Liberty's and that deranged medina that is the Oxford Circus branch of Top Shop. The neighbouring cafe sells cakes, what more could you want?

4 The Wolseley, Green Park

Often this London institution is jammed, but sometimes in the morning, the afternoon or on weekdays the little patisserie section on the left of the main entrance has plenty of space. I'm fond of the Wolseley for it's opulance, hum of life and democratic principles. The coffee at the Wolseley is different from my other choices being more of a traditional filter style jobbie. It does come with room temperature cream and is served, as it should be, in a silver pot. I know they are silver or silver plated because I have seen the pot for sale, and it is expensive. This is coffee to go with cakes (I'd recommend one of their eclairs) and it is therefore appropriate for it to be a somewhat more ascetic brew. The coffee is high quality, my only complaint is that it could be hotter, but I am not sure that it should be. I simply like my coffee hot. This is definitely the place to bring relatives if they are in town and want coffee. I wouldn't recommend the afternoon tea at the Wolseley, the fodder and cha is good but being a glamorous noisy barn it always feels as if you should be hurling your scone at your neigbouring diners. Coffee in the patisserie is better, it is a calming experience. Often you see businessmen on a weekday morning, scanning their papers, sipping their coffee. If the Wolseley is heaving Richeloux also serve an equally tasty pot of coffee, they just cannot compete on looks or atmosphere, although their faux oriental decor has its charm.



A very good guide to coffee haunts nationally can be found here:http://www.cosycoffeeshops.co.uk/



Monmouth coffee's website is under construction .



Sacred Coffee's website: http://www.sacredcafe.co.uk/



Mezzo restaurant cafe website:

http://www.mezzobar.co.uk/location.html


Details on the Wolseley:

http://www.thewolseley.com/