If you have not yet had the unmatchable pleasure of dining at Medlar you must drop everything and make a booking immediately.
I have been trying to get to Medlar for months. (I am not just saying this because by now everyone has eaten there, written a (glowing) review, and I am trying to catch up.) It has been difficult, however, to persuade my London compadres to voyage to a part of Chelsea where there are no nearby tube stops. So I took advantage Continue reading
It’s official: London has discovered brunch. Even two years ago, you couldn’t find brunch anywhere except hotels, and said “brunch” consisted only of fry-ups (coyly masquerading as “English breakfast”), granola bowls, and the occasional forlorn Eggs Benedict. All that has changed, and as an American (i.e., brunch addict) I’m ecstatic about it. So when friend C turned up on an early Sunday morning flight from San Francisco, brunch was the Thing To Be Had. And, judging from the buzz, NOPI was the place to have it. Continue reading
Al Waha is a west London institution. In 2008, Colin Firth called it his favourite table in London (cue photo of Colin Firth looking impassive, clever and hot as ever). Reportedly, it’s the only Lebanese restaurant listed in Charles Campion’s 2006 London restaurant guide. All this, and more, I learned Continue reading
Les parents love les bistros. So, on our last night in Paris, we decided to try the ambitiously named Bistro des Gastronomes. Bistro des Gastronomes opened quietly in the 5th arrondissement in January of this year. It’s a funny place. Consider: (a) a hot young chef (he most recently worked for Christian Constant *swoon* and at Chez Michel) (b) reasonable prices (at €35 for three courses it’s a bit splurgy for me, but not if les parents are buying); (c) a good, fairly central location; and (d) very good food. A recipe for success, non? Continue reading
Street food is my favourite thing to eat almost all the time. If food is salty, fried, spicy, pickled, if it’s handed to me wrapped in paper by some guy I just saw cook it, and I can dispense with forks and plates and cram it in my mouth, I’m ON IT like white on rice. Falafel – which arguably is older than the New Testament – is a perfect food. Done right, it’s a glimpse at the ineffable. It’s a pleasure loop. Continue reading
Three minutes after I got to Au Passage restaurant/wine bar, I started to fret that taking my parents there was a mistake. Let me explain: Au Passage is a hipster spot. Located down a slightly grungy alley in the 11th arrondissement, Au Passage looks and feels like a dive bar. The tables and chairs are a mish-mash of club chairs and hand-me-downs, the bar is fully stocked, the playlist seems to consist of nothing but the White Stripes, and the menu is 10 or 12 items scrawled on a chalkboard. In other words, it’s the kind of place where I feel right at home Continue reading
There are few things better than going to a really good bar where you know the bartender. That cozy feeling of communion as the drinks crafted ESPECIALLY FOR YOU are placed before you is an experience on a par, I’d say, with going on a really sexy first date. (The two, of course, are not mutually exclusive.) One thing that gives this most singular of pleasures a run for its money is going to a good bar where you don’t know the bartender but ARE TREATED AS IF YOU DO. Continue reading
I am meat-drunk. I feel like I have been larded with drippings and slathered on toast. You see, I had brunch at Hawksmoor Spitalfields today.
This is not brunch for the fainthearted or weak-willed. There is no heart-healthy option. Nor is this brunch for vegetarians. No. This is brunch for meat-eaters and boozers, and I love it. Continue reading
Although roti is one of my favourite things to eat in the whole world (it’s definitely in the top five and may be in the top three), somehow I didn’t know about Mooli’s until friend J showed me the menu online.
“This is right up my alley,” I thought. A streamlined concept – street food, specifically roti wraps – served six ways, with six proteins, open for lunch. Period. Two days later I was standing before the counter, clutching my fists, wracked with indecision. BEEF, PORK, CHICKPEA OR GOAT? Continue reading
As a general rule, I don’t go out to eat in Mayfair unless someone else is buying. This is because it is practically impossible to dine in Mayfair without basically emptying your bank account. But when a Bollywood insider suggests you go to an Indian restaurant, the sensible thing to do is immediately agree, because this particular Bollywood insider usually knows what she’s talking about. On this occasion, however, not so much.
Friend J invited me to Chor Bizarre, a venerable old Indian restaurant on Albemarle Street across from posh five star Brown’s hotel. Chor Bizarre is a successful franchise, with restaurants in Delhi and Noida. In London, it’s frequented by wealthy Indian travelers and suits striking deals. It’s a cute concept: a sly wink at a thieves’ market with tables like jewelry cases filled with found objects. But Chor Bizarre doesn’t deliver, either on concept or on food. Continue reading
Susan eats London 