camp_dick

Believe it or not, John Burton Race was the unlikely model for Gareth Blackstock and L'Orlotan =' La Chateau Anglais, a country restaurant in Oxfordshire'. While Blackstock was portrayed as a tyrant, Burton Race was revealed by a concealed video camera as sadist who employed his sous chef, Nigel Marriage, to enforce kitchen discipline by meting out cruel and unusual punishments. Remarkably, since Chef! Burton Race has morphed into Blackstock and become a character off the telly with a charming wife who understands his culinary obsession and tolerates his, erm, eccentricities.

You'd be disappointed, Marlena. Redevelopment @ Spitalfields has halved the space available to stall holders, so the flea market is crammed in with the organic food stalls and the eating court has shrunk. The old seating pavilion and that mad kinetic art piece is long gone and the stalls now face each other in a strip, rather than occupy one corner. The falafel stall is one that's been moved. I tried one of their sandwiches a couple of Sundays ago and it was a shadow of its former self, partly no doubt because it was produced in a high-pressure production line. Its main problem was that the falafels weren't properly cooked, but its assembly was slap dash, sort out your own salad, kerching, next please... Thinking back, the episode has a nightmarish quality of desperation, with hundreds of hungry, hollow-eyed people queuing forlornly for falafels... Maybe it's just as well the government's clamping down on the sale of magic mushrooms

Against my odds, Busaba 3 is now trading and I visited early yesterday evening. Characteristically for a Yau enterprise, the food was more than acceptable and the service was utterly clueless. I guess the place has been open only a week and the staff are green, but that's a poor excuse since they (just about) outnumbered customers at the time of my visit. I notice that Liagre's interior has been coarsened in this (presumably cheaper) interpretation, with not so sturdy looking benches instead of stools and no awkward Venetian blinds to attract dust. I didn't see a menu displayed outside (thought that was a legal req?) but overheard a pair of tourists admiring the joint from across the street, speculating on the cuisine. They reckoned it's probably Japanese Yau has retained the exterior electronic display, which has become so abstract now as to be pointless (or maybe it's just me who doesn't get it). I never did understand why he prefers to waste money on what amounts to trivial electronic art, rather than build a web site which might serve some useful purpose. Speaking of which, Ping Pong has managed to get a front page up on its web space, incorporating a crap Flash logo and a sign up facility for further announcements...

Blimey! Of course, angry Chinese men with lethal choppers are an every day phenomenon @ Hakkasan. But they tend to work for the organisation Have you had any response to the complaint letters you sent before? If not, or anyway, try calling 020 7907 0700 and demand to speak to Linda Yau in person.

Couldn't read the article without registering @ charlotte.com, but isn't Kir - the Arkansas Cafe guy - from Carolina way? He was well known for providing the only US style BBQ in London (and catering the US Embassy's July 4th garden parties), before Bodeans opened in Soho. Sadly for your hubby, Spitalfields is hardly worth visiting since not much goes on there during the week (apart from the BBQ). On Sundays, there's an organic veg market, an array of indifferent fast food stalls and far too many people crammed into too small a space... However, since your man is interested in ethnic foods, he should cross the road from Spitalfields, walk down Fournier Street and find himself - taraa! - in Brick Lane. It's full of 'Indian' restaurants (I use the quotes because, actually, they're all run by Bangladeshis). I can't recommend any one in particular because I haven't been for a while, but the intense competition tends to mean that they're all pretty good. Probably the best Indian in the City, however, is Cyrus Todiwala's Cafe Spice Namaste @ 16 Prescot Street, E1 (Tel: 020 7488 9242) which is unusual because it's chef-owned and the chef is not from the Sylet region of Bangladesh, but is a Parsee. Again, I can't be too effusive because I haven't been for ages (too long!) and I've read some negative reports recently, but it's got to be worth a punt. I'd also recommend Eyre Bros @ 70 Leonard Street, London, EC2A 4QX (Telephone: 020 7613 5346) where the food is kinda Mediterranean in concept. Out that way, you've also got Fifteen <www.fifteenrestaurant.com> but it's unlikely that you'll get a table at short notice... Also worth mentioning is Terry Conran's gastrodrome (over Tower Bridge, turn left) where there's a choice of poncey French, expensive Italian and earnest English restaurants and, best of the lot, the Blueprint Cafe @ the Design Museum. Borough Market is worth a visit on any day of the week (although the foodie market is on Saturdays). It's a nice walk over the river from Bank and there's some decent pubs. Finally, can I warn you about Baker & Spice, as mentioned above? The one in Queens Park is possibly the most pretentious cafe in the known world, run by supercilious Gallic twats who charge by the weight of food on your plate. Somehow, a plate of salads ammounted to 12 quid!

Heretical though it may be to a Yorkshireman, I do actually prefer vegetable oil, at least in London. I appreciate that super saturated animal fat imparts a rich flavour to chips and makes for dark and crispy batter, but I don't know of any local emporia that make a big deal of frying in dripping (Faulkener's, maybe?). Many North London places (2Bros; Nautilus) offer a Kosher option (using matzoh meal instead of batter) and it may be that there's a prohibition against frying fish in a melted cow The peeps what run masters may be Maltese, or maybe they're Greek; Mediterranean, innit? It's easier to keep a clean supply of vegetable oil than to bugger about with beef dripping. And it is healthier. And there's the demi veggies who eat fish sometimes You may argue that it makes for a more anaemic product and you might have a point. I don't think I've ever met a Northerner who has been completely satisfied with the quality of fish and chips in London. But I tell 'em, if you think that's bland, don't even look at the sausages.

If cab drivers are good judges, Masters on Waterloo Road (behind the Old Vic) is pretty special. They do use fresh fish, not frozen, and fry in vegetable oil, not drippng. There's rarely fewer than a dozen cabs parked out front after 7pm, but one can usually find a table in the dining room.

Yesterday's letters page included a balanced pair, one saying VL-S made her hoot with laughter (as opposed to snort with derision). The other, from John Wilkinson: 'It is with mixed emotions that I read VL-S would not longer be writing restauarant reviews. A mixture of relief and delight.' LOL!

Well, whaddya going to do when someone massively over orders the peach juice;-) Ham fisted up-selling has been a perennial problem @ Hakkasan. I put it down to the charmlessness of the management. That stuff does trickle down The thing with the bill sounds well dodgy. Obviously, if a big raucous party hands over a huge wedge of cash without one particular 'host' figure taking responsibility for counting it all, a less than scrupulous wait person could be tempted to pocket some of it. Could the confusion be related to a service charge? I second Moby's advice to write to the management, although I strongly disagree when he says, "I'm sure they've heard the other side of the story by now". I'm certain they won't have heard about it and that's a large part of the problem. It will be interesting to hear if 'the management' manage to respond to your written complaints. I recommend that you and all your mates write out your grievances, including as much detail as possible and that you keep copies. Rather than send them to Yau@Cha, phone the reservations line or 020 7907 0700 on Tuesday to ask who and where to complain to, so that you can direct your letters to a named person at head office. If you don't get a response within a fortnight (or whatever you consider to be a reasonable period), or if you're not satisfied with the response, send copies of your complaints to Michelin, Hardens', Time Out and any other restaurant reviewing org you can think of. Of course, you and your web literate mates can also blacken the name of the place at the various online review sites... BTW: what's a Hag night? A stag night for gay men? Chinese halloween?

In Oxford Street the other day, I noticed that work is going on at the site of Busaba 3 in Bird Street, which has been hoarded since before Christmas. Perhaps this means that the Yau posse are finally looking to finish their fit out after a leisurely four months on site? Anyone seen any recruitment ads? On the other hand, has anyone been offered a cannily designed Thai concept with two and a half outlets at a knock-down price? I also noticed, in Great Marlborough Street, a hoarding that announces a new venture called Ping Pong which, I learn from The Caterer, is to be a dim sum restaurant launched by former Nobu general manager, Kurt Zdesar. I guess this is the market's first repsonse to Yau@Cha? Apparently, it'll seat about 220 people with spend averaging about £10 for lunch and £18 for dinner with wine. So long as Mr Zdesar knows where to recruit a decent Dim Sum chef, I'd say this is bound to be a hit. The new venue is expected to open in May. What are the odds that it's up and trading before Busaba 3 gets around to opening its doors?

So, farewell then Victor Lewis Smith. With your lame puns And novel hairdon't. As a restaurant reviewer, you were a fine TV critic. Aren 't I hilarious? That was your catchphrase.

Maybe something like this: Nervously, I surveyed the dining room from behind my menu, while pretending to read it. From the moment my editor proposed that I review restaurants, I knew it was a bad idea. Not only am I famously finickity, but I don't like strangers watching while I eat. Perhaps this goes back to my school days, when I got to wear my pudding more often, it seemed, than I ate it. No matter what strategy I adopted to avoid confrontation, the bullies always knew where to find me when the custard was doled out. But I couldn't tell her that. Instead, I fumbled for an excuse, telling her that not only am I Jewish and strictly Kosher, but I'm also vegan. Which is almost true, give or take the odd bacon sandwich. Reassuringly, the editor offered to accompany me on my first official outing, but where was she now? Not here, that's where. Although the dining room was half empty, no other diners were unaccompanied. No doubt they were all keeping an eye on me and commenting to one another upon my solitude. The head waiter, in particular, kept casting appraising looks in my direction, like he didn't approve of me. He hates me and doesn't want me in his restaurant, I thought. I knew it. I've been stood up by my immediate boss and now I'm about to be humiliated by someone who should be my servant. If only I wasn't so uncomfortable with the concept of service. Oh no, he's coming over. "Would you like a drink while you're waiting, Sir?" asked the head waiter with a supercilious smirk that completely failed to hide his obvious mirth at my solitary discomfort. "Oh, yes," I managed to squeak. There was a lengthy pause. The HW looked down on me, arching an eyebrow. "Very good, Sir," he said with exaggerated solicitude. "What would you like?" I'd like my lunch companion to arrive right now or, failing that, for the earth to open up and swallow me whole, thus sparing me any further embarrassment. But that's not what he meant. He meant, to drink. It's true my mouth was dry. And my heart was racing. I wondered if there was a convenient window in the Gents and if it was on the ground floor. "Actually," I said, with all the dignity I could muster, "I wonder if you would be so kind as to direct me to the lavatory?"

Culinista, seems like you've already worked out that if your husband needs to commute through Waterloo and you want Food, you'd be best off joining us south of the river. Check www.fieldandsons.co.uk - property agents in Borough High St. Although most bustling on Fridays/Saturdays, the success of the gourmet market @ Borough <www.boroughmarket.org.uk> has attracted permanent shops into its environs, including de Gustibus, the crafty baker; Neal's Yard, the cheese shop; Wyndhams the poulterer; a fishmonger almost next door (Applebees?). Theres a decent fruit & veg stand on the corner and usually at least one of the butchers' stands is trading, at least in the mornings. Not to mention Konditor & Cooke, Bedales and other poncey emporia. Then there's the cafes that have opened; the local pubs that have raised their game; the Brindisa tapas bar; Fish! 'South Bank' & 'Bankside' are riverside stretches west of Tower Bridge where, I imagine, residential lets would be expensive and hard to come by (although there's a huge former office building on the south side of Waterloo Bridge). However, there's lots of flats, including many recent warehouse conversions with river views, east of Tower Bridge. Starting with Butler's Wharf and the Conran 'gastrodrome', which is a complex of rather expensive restaurants and a couple of food shops. Personally, I would love to live on the river in Bermondsey, or even Rotherhithe. One could cycle along the river to the Borough. Supermarkets are a bit scarce, but you can get Waitrose/Ocado to deliver...

Meades always was a pompous wanker. His restaurant reviews were opaque. I'd read them, re-read them, ponder one or two of the jokes, sigh, and wonder what the restaurant was like. His replacement, Giles Coren, is loads better, IMO. FYI, Moby: although they're old mates, there's a clear difference between Alastair Little's and Rowley Leigh's culinary education. Alastair, who has a degree in Anthropology from Cambridge, taught himself to cook, taking Michel Guerard's 'Cuisine Gourmand' as his key text. Rowley, who didn't complete his English degree, was thoroughly trained by the Roux Bros via a trad. apprenticeship. What this means is that Mr Leigh's mastery of basic techniques is impeccable while Mr Little has made a virtue of the imperative, 'Faites simple'! Perhaps more pertinent, even, is the respective chefs' ability to run a big kitchen. Alastair's basically a one-man band, who failed at L'Escargot and subsequently made his name at 192, working alone. Whereas Rowley = Kensington Place. And the FT, too.

VeryApe77,Feb 24 2005, 05:53 PM said: >Really? That's really funny, especially as it conjures up the image of Alan Yau >intently listening to the works of Tupac (I picture him at a large wooden desk, lost >in the gangsta rapture). A more accurate image would be Bill Murrary, Lost in Translation. Likesay, he wasn't listening intently. Just flipping channels... >Ironically though, you clearly ARE mad at him. But he has insulted me! He has insulted my family!! And he has violated the sanctity of the Shaolin temple!!! Actually, two of those statements aren't true and I'm working hard on forgiving the other thing, 'cause I realise the conceited git can't help himself. But what I'd be really MAD about - IF I gave a fart - is having to book weeks in advance to get a table at Yau@Cha. It's like, Yum Cha = Big Deal. But then they limit you to 90 minutes, 'cos it's only dim sum, innit? But you're, like, I waited a fortnight for this table and the salt and pepper quail Jay Rayner raved about cost ten quid and, BTW, what is Wagyu beef? Why can't you just show up and wait for a table? Because somebody has put a poncey cake shop where the bar/holding area should be! Doesn't it look lovely!! Very, you know, Continental. No doubt that's why Michelin gave it a star within 9 months of opening (I'm not au fait with the mich.symbol for 'serious cake').

I got just what I wanted at a noodle bar called Samurai on Panton Street early on Saturday evening. I was walking through the West End to catch a bus on Haymarket, thinking about miso ramen and kind of regretting not having stopped off at Satsuma in Wardour Street for their salmon ramen, or the HK Diner, lower down, to try their vegetarian Shanghai noodles (anyone been?) But, lo and behold, there's this place I've never seen before, empty at six o'clock with a sushi bar in the front and just what I want on the menu. Nipponese, with crossed swords on the walls and Geisha-like waitresses. I had v.acceptable veg tempura with a correct, warm dipping sauce; salmon miso ramen with spinach and some worrying pickles lurking like unfunny slugs; plus two beers, all for twenty squid. No waiting. I was the only person in the place at six o'clock. As I scarfed the tempura, three theatrical types came in and ordered tea for four before being joined by - ta, ra! - Victoria Wood. Large as life, like, but dead natural. Two of her mates had Yasai Yaki Soba and the third had a soup ramen dish. Ms Wood stuck to tea and talked about 'the show' (presumably, Acorn Antiques, the Musical). From what I could earwig across an empty dining room... So, anyway. My Revised Top 3 West End Noodle Shops are now: 3. Ryo - formerly known as Hamine - on Brewer Street. Proving that you can take the pork off the miso ramen, but you can't take the lustrous jewels of pork fat out of the soup. No matter how you pile on those beansprouts you KNOW you're pigging... 2. Satsuma in Wardour Street. The noodle bar wagamama could have been, if it was run by the Tong and not by fat white guys in suits. Looking somewhat sloppy these days, but still a first rate salmon miso ramen and good raw fish (if you are that way). 1. Samuari in Panton Street: real Japanese, prompt service; good noodles and tempura, looks like the sushi might be OK, bento boxes; (used to be) empty apart from Victoria Wood and her mates. Chewing over: * I've never sat down in Soba. Or Miso. They just look clueless. ** Haven't done 'shag-ya-mama' for donkeys. Can't be any good, can it? *** HongKong Diner; WTF?

Paul Gaylor at The Lanesborough is the Guv'nor. If not demonstrably The Best, he is undoubtedly the most underrated chef working in London. Although he may not have the profile of some of the chaps mentioned above and, obviously, he's managing a big hotel brigade, Gaylor has a real culinary intelligence, born of a genuine love of food, deep knowledge, and an amazing memory! He's also a thoroughly nice chap with a delightfully coarse turn of phrase.

Dude, I came here to diss Yau, not discuss him! For information about his various brands, I suggest you consult their respective web sites. Oops, that's right: they don't exist. Because nobody really bothers with the interweb, do they? Perhaps you could try contacting someone@hakkasan.com for the information you require? Tell them, "Yeah, All the homies that I ain't talked to in a while. I'm a send this out to y'all; know what I mean? Cuz, I ain't mad at cha..."

The name makes more sense if you spell it , 'Yau@Cha'. It's origins are quite bizarre in that the name was actually inspired by Alan Yau's mishearing of a rant by Tupac Shakur, featuring Danny Boy, from the gangsta rapper's seminal album, 'All Eyes On Me'. The track in question is actually called 'I Ain't Mad At Cha', but Alan - jet lagged as usual and listening from his own cultural perspective - heard it as 'Mau At Cha', which conjured visions of the Chairman sipping tea... Oh, how we laughed

Well, I am obviously well informed about the internal workings of the Hakkasan group and - as may also be obvious - I have a grievance. And I know where the bodies are buried;-( FYI, origamicrane, Alan Yau received £3.5m when he sold his interest in wagamama, in 1997/8. Back then, there were only two wagamamas. Now there are 42. Last year, the directors decided not to float waga publicly, but financed future expansion by borrowing £60m. I agree that AY's restaurants are pretty good from the customers' POV. My point is that the owner's design fetish, his refusal to accept advice, and his constant long-haul travelling make him a nightmare to work for. Carlovski referred to the 'phenomonal success' of his other ventures, but that's a matter of perspective. I have plenty to say about both Busaba and Yauatcha, but perhaps I'll save these observations for separate threads...

It beats me how Alan Yau maintains his reputation, having sustained such a comprehensive failure at Anda. He inherited the premises from his business partner, Sami Wasif, who had opened possibly the most pretentious Italian restaurant of modern times, which received the worst reviews in memory, and promptly closed. Yau conceived a kind of wagga pizzeria (the business plan was tagged '21st Century Trattoria') with the refectory tables and benches: 45 mins; 15 quid per head. However, this wasn't to be because of (a) inevitable comparisons with Eco, Wasif's passe pizzeria dahn sarf, and (b) the success of Strada raised the bar too high. Plus, there was no accounting for factor X: Mr Yau's hifalutin' ideas. Yau hired a proper chef, Francesco Mazzei, working with a full brigade (eight in the kitchen at service), turning out a full menu to customers who could expect to spend an hour and a half and at least £35 per head for dinner. But - and this is the hallmark of Yau's genius - he kept the canteen service style and wouldn't initially accept bookings. In fact, he was expecting passers-by to queue for the privilege of spending £50 each on dinner and to sit for hours with nothing to support their backs! Of course, it was never going to work and Fay Maschler took Yau aside and told him so. She said she wouldn't review Anda, because to do so would choke the business at birth. Before Anda had properly opened, Yau knew that he was going to have to ditch the limed oak refectory tables and uncomfortable benches. For that reason, there was no official launch event and not even a press release could be sent out. Yau was relying on word of mouth, but didn't appreciate how difficult the Baker Street location actually is. In desperation, his people persuaded Yau to try a bit of direct marketing. They schmoozed Marks & Sparks execs from Head Office across the road, but M&S weren't doing too well, either. They lunched the concierges from local hotels, who all said they'd be happy to recommend the restaurant as soon as it acquired some proper chairs! Of course, a restuarateur of Alan Yau's calibre can't be expected to buy his furniture ready made. The new chairs had to be commissioned from a prestigious designer. There were long lunches and intense consultations. A prototype chair was produced at great expense. This all took more than six months, while the restaurant was barely trading... to give an idea of how much money went down the drain, when it was revealed that the new chairs would cost about thirty grand, someone remarked that's how much the restaurant was losing every week! This cash hemorrhage had severe repercussions in other areas of the business. (Each of the restaurants operates independently, but Hakkasan is the cash cow and core company.) The Bird Street location of Busaba is still hoarded at time of writing (and there's a rumour that they'll lose the Floral St location), while the new Chowbar concept @ Kingly Court is already more than a year behind schedule and is now unlikely to open before the end of 2005 (unless the landlord pulls the plug). Through it all, Alan Yau acted like he was serenely oblivious, constantly travelling to do business with his sinister associates in Moscow and HK. Only a couple of weeks before the accountants finally pulled the plug on Anda, Yau accompanied Francesco to the trade fair in Bologna to scope out new ovens! So that's the sad story of Anda. It's nothing to do with a Chinese bloke not being able to operate an Italian restaurant: the food was very good and not expensive for what it was. It's just that it was a misconceived and badly executed concept, with a service style that didn't match the aspirations of the cuisine, in the wrong location and with a crap name. At least this failure doesn't appear to have dented Alan Yau's high opinion of himself!