OK so in the fifteen minutes I have before I go to the Design School to be finally reimbursed for Sonsie (my impoverished ex-editress, it turns out, couldn't quite extract the necessary funds from the business department, and so has to pay me back herself), I'm going to pay H a belated tribute to his exceptional hospitality and culinary savoir-faire throughout my London excursion.
Belgo, a Belgian refectory with industrial chic, where I had moules-frites, a far, far cry from the real stuff. Not quite half as slippery enough, and starting to show signs of congealing into that most tragic of seafood-related catastrophes: turgid shellfish. Busaba Eathai, another comradely community (incidentally, did you know that "tong2 zhi4" is slang for gay partner in Chinese?), where I tackled a large HILLOCK of green curry fried rice. And that lemongrass ginger pressé! We badly need more soft drinks like that, and none of those rubbishy radioactive day-glo liquids with names like Radical Raspberry and Bodacious Blueberry. Khan's, which I'll pass over because H doesn't believe set menus offer a fair representation of the chef's prowess. Paul's tarte au citron which was good, but this being London, there was (probably delusionally) something missing, and was waaay too expensive.
Isola, a huge glorified basement of a restaurant where I had a spectacular salad: tomato, basil, red onion, broad beans, croutons, garlic, olive oil. And then THE best pizza I've ever had, and austerely topped with only rucola and parmesan. Then that same day a free (unpaid for) dinner at Strada, where I was bowled over by THE second-best pizza I've ever had, bubbling over with buffalo mozzarella magma, salami, artichokes and rocket. And (oh God will the ecstasy ever end) a stunning dessert of stunning simplicity: affogato, an iced vanilla nougat iceberg dribbled over with a shot of Illy espresso, to be savored (but quickly) while it melts away right there in the bowl. Food always tastes better when there isn't enough of it...and especially when you have to stave off competitors. I had to fend off a ravenous C - subtly of course.
The Duck Place was notable only for its duck, but such duck it was! Thickly stratified with wobbly ribbons of fat. Apparently it's not roast duck, but deep-fried, or it's roasted and THEN deep-fried, I forget which.
Mandarin Kitchen had proper zui4 ji1 and their signature lobster keong-chong sang mein was excellent.
That's about it; if I've omitted anything you feel was undeservedly left out, lemme know H, and we'll work something out.
[How do you pronounce Kristin Kreuk? Kr-UHH-k, de la façon francaise? Kr-OY-k, like in German? Kr-OO-k? Kr-EEYOO-k?]
Belgo, a Belgian refectory with industrial chic, where I had moules-frites, a far, far cry from the real stuff. Not quite half as slippery enough, and starting to show signs of congealing into that most tragic of seafood-related catastrophes: turgid shellfish. Busaba Eathai, another comradely community (incidentally, did you know that "tong2 zhi4" is slang for gay partner in Chinese?), where I tackled a large HILLOCK of green curry fried rice. And that lemongrass ginger pressé! We badly need more soft drinks like that, and none of those rubbishy radioactive day-glo liquids with names like Radical Raspberry and Bodacious Blueberry. Khan's, which I'll pass over because H doesn't believe set menus offer a fair representation of the chef's prowess. Paul's tarte au citron which was good, but this being London, there was (probably delusionally) something missing, and was waaay too expensive.
Isola, a huge glorified basement of a restaurant where I had a spectacular salad: tomato, basil, red onion, broad beans, croutons, garlic, olive oil. And then THE best pizza I've ever had, and austerely topped with only rucola and parmesan. Then that same day a free (unpaid for) dinner at Strada, where I was bowled over by THE second-best pizza I've ever had, bubbling over with buffalo mozzarella magma, salami, artichokes and rocket. And (oh God will the ecstasy ever end) a stunning dessert of stunning simplicity: affogato, an iced vanilla nougat iceberg dribbled over with a shot of Illy espresso, to be savored (but quickly) while it melts away right there in the bowl. Food always tastes better when there isn't enough of it...and especially when you have to stave off competitors. I had to fend off a ravenous C - subtly of course.
The Duck Place was notable only for its duck, but such duck it was! Thickly stratified with wobbly ribbons of fat. Apparently it's not roast duck, but deep-fried, or it's roasted and THEN deep-fried, I forget which.
Mandarin Kitchen had proper zui4 ji1 and their signature lobster keong-chong sang mein was excellent.
That's about it; if I've omitted anything you feel was undeservedly left out, lemme know H, and we'll work something out.
[How do you pronounce Kristin Kreuk? Kr-UHH-k, de la façon francaise? Kr-OY-k, like in German? Kr-OO-k? Kr-EEYOO-k?]
posted by D at 12:53
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