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The Landseer

 

The Landseer
37 Landseer Road
N19 4JU 

Date of Last Visit: Sunday, January 18th, 2009

The Victims: Gerry, Ben

The Damage: Less than £20 for some beer and a bowl of French onion soup.

The Background: I wrote a while back about how I thought 2009 would be the year of playing games in pubs. So it was that I found myself on a Sunday afternoon at The Landseer in Holloway with my bag of tricks. I convinced Gerry and Ben to play Quiddler and despite Gerry's dislike of word games, she managed to kick all of our butts big time until I squeaked ahead in the last possible round!

The Entrance: The Landseer has a lot of big windows. On a chilly but sunny Sunday like the 18th, this really makes it the most perfect place to hang out it. Really, it was lovely.

The Service: Super congenial. Someone had definitely taken their happy pills.

The Food: I ordered French onion soup and some chips. The French onion soup was pretty bad. Gloupy in a bad way. And there were lots of little sticks in it. Like someone had thrown in the twigs from a lot of old bay leaves.The chips were nice though...nice shoe-stringy frites.

 

The Verdict: Go back for the windows. And the frites. Also, they have pretty much ALL the Sunday papers, which makes it a nice place to while away a few hours.

£6.50 for a Brownie with Ice Cream?

 

Maybe it's the times. Maybe The Garrison just caught me on a bad night. MAybe I just haven't been paying enough attention to the price of pudding these days.

But see the box on this menu? Those are the desserts. And they all clock in at £6.50. The cheese is £7.50.

£6.50 for dessert on Bermondsey Street, of all places? That's highway robbery. Isn't it?

The Engineer

The Engineer
65 Gloucester Avenue
NW1 8JH
http://www.the-engineer.com

Date of Last Visit: Sunday, 16 November 2008

The Victims: Al, Rutton

The Damage: £45 each for Rutton and Me. £35 for Al.

The Background: First we were six, possibly eight. And then we were three. And one was on time. Two were late. Thank God for Time Out. And St. Peter's Organic. How restaurants put up with us, I don't know.

That being said, I am somewhat proud of Rutton in that he took THE BUS. I have never known him to take the bus. You know there must be a credit crunch going on when this former investment banker (still gainfully employed, but an investment banker no more) takes THE BUS. Hence his lateness. (That being said, he wasn't that late. Maybe 10 minutes?)

While we wait for Al, we enjoy our starters. Tortilla soup for me. Some sort of smoked salmon for him. My soup is very generous. A meal almost in itself. We also start in on our first bottle of Tempernillo.

Rutton likes his salmon so much that he debates ordering another plate, ostensibly to tell Al that we've ordered him a starter. Al arrives just in time to prevent this hoax and we move into mains.

Although I don't normally order chicken in restaurants--it's the one thing I can make for myself--today is just one of those days. It's cold out. And wet. And some roast chicken just seems like such the right thing. Mine (and Rutton's) is served with mash, spinach, and mushrooms. It's a generous portion, and it's pretty good. Is it very good pub food. I'm happy. Al is just as happy with his miso marinated pollock. Although where he puts it, I don't know.

During all this, we polish off another bottle of Tempernillo and start in on some muscat. To go along with our vanilla ice cream. And our bakewell tart.

I know I must have taken the tube home. And the bus. But I'm a little hazy on the details starting about mid-way through that 2nd bottle of Tempernillo.

The Loos: Could really use a good scrubbing.

The Verdict: I liked it here. It did the trick on a Sunday afternoon.

The Only Running Footman

The Only Running Footman
5 Charles St
W1J 5DF
Tel: 020 7499 2988

Date of Last Visit: Tuesday, September 30th

The Victims: Brenna, Mike

The Damage: £30 each

The Background: I haven't seen Brenna since 1992. Maybe 1994. We're a little hazy on those early years in university when we might have seen each other during the summer. Through the magic of Facebook, we've been brought back together. She and her husband have stopped into London on their way back to the U.S. after a two week European tour.

They've come from Paris, in a roundabout way. And Brenna tells me how while she was in the ladies' loo at The Louvre, she ran into our other high school friend, Julie D. And I find this funny because on Saturday, I was in a bar in Crouch End when I randomly ran into my childhood friend Joanne who doesn't even live in London anymore. And just this past Saturday, I was in Angel tube and who did I run into by Bryan and Stacey. (They live around Angel, as do I, so perhaps it's not so surprising. But still!)

The world is indeed a small place.

I've chosen The Only Running Footman because I was over at the London Bloggers' Meetup earlier and I know that the Green Park tube will be convenient for Brenna and Mike. And so we meet.

And it's kinda crazy. Because we have over a decade of gossip to catch up on. She has long hair now. And she says I haven't aged at all.

The Food: Monkfish wrapped in bacon for me. Veal for Mike. Brenna complains momentarily about the lack of vegetarian options when our waiter overhears her and notes that the chef always makes something special for his vegetarians. They have a brief conversation, and we have no idea what to expect.

I like my monkfish. It's okay. Mike LOVES his veal. What I really like is the risotto that my monkfish is lying on. Brenna enjoys her vegetarian tart.

The Dessert: Sticky Toffee Pudding for me. A fruit tart of some sort for them, with basil ice cream. The basil seems like an odd choice, but it's strangely addictive.

The Verdict: I really liked it here. Prices are steep, but this is Mayfair. Service was friendly. My food was very good. I would go back. Just like I would go back in time to 1992. When I was Woman of Physics. And won the history medal. Although I can't remember sh*t. Except for 9.8 meters per second-squared.

P.S. Don't forget to tell me about your perfect Saturday in London!

The Barnsbury

The Barnsbury
209-211 Liverpool Road
N1 1LX
Tel: 020 7607 5519
http://www.thebarnsbury.co.uk

Date of Last Visit: Friday, September 26th, 2008

The Victims: Feathers, Matt, Stacey

The Damage: Oh I forget...bad of me. £25ish each maybe?

The Background: Stacey has got us all tickets to Tropic Thunder at the Islington Vue. Dinner beforehand is in order. She offers me two choices: Vietnamese or The Barnsbury. Honestly, it's mir egal. So she books The Barnsbury.

Feathers and Matt and I sit outside The Barnsbury for a bit, enjoying the rare English sunshine. Matt and I buy Euro Millions tickets (all you need is £1 and a dream, right?) and as it turns out, I recoup my spend with a win of £7.40 or thereabouts.

The Food: We don't waste much time. After all, we have a really bad movie to see. Duck for me. The chicken and chorizo stew for Feathers and Stacey. Steak for Matt. We place our order around 7 p.m.

And then it's 7:30 p.m. And there's no food.

7:45 p.m. No food.

8 p.m. No food.

8:05 p.m. Food. Finally. We eat it in 10 minutes and skedaddle so we can get good seats.

The Verdict: I ate my food so fast, I don't even remember what it tasted like. I might go back here if I had more time. (Or, well, if they had more time. Or more, I don't know...more of a fire underneath them?) The service was nice.

P.S. Feathers texted me the next day and said, I quote, "So I thought the service was very good but food OK. My rocket and parm salad had too much parm and I never say that. The stew was just a nice piece of chicken in broth with beans."

Holly Bush

Holly Bush
22 Holly Mount
NW3 6SG
Tel: 020 7435 2892

Date of Last Visit: Friday, August 15th

The Victim: Jen

The Damage: I forget. Jen paid! Not much though.

The Background: Jen's whirlwind tour of London continues. After catching the changing of the guard, I take us to Hampstead to do what any self-respecting gals from the Tri-State Area would do...get our nails done. Only thing is, Jen's not biting. So I go off to get my nails done, and Jen wanders the streets of Hampstead.

After I'm all dry, we head up and over to the Holly Bush. You've got to give them credit...the approach is fantastic. Up a long but pretty flight of stairs and down a narrow side street, there it is. We grab a table by the window.

The Food: Chicken salad for her. Steak and ale pie for me. In hindsight, I should have ordered the salad...it was really pretty and fresh looking. And given that the sun shone the entire time Jen was in London, it made for a nice sunny-afternoon meal. My pie, on the other hand, was better suited to these last few days where the threat of rain seems omnipresent. It was still pretty good though. Here it is...

The Service: It was only bar service, but she seemed to be having a bad day. A bit surly, that one.

The Verdict: I think this is a good place to go if you have visitors in town and want to take them somewhere atmospheric. The walk up from the High Street alone will impress!

Pub with Good Food: The Beehive

The Beehive
126 Crawford St
W1U 6BF
Tel: 020 7486 8037

Date of Last Visit: Wednesday, July 2, 2008

The Victims: Rutton, Richard, Jose

The Damage: I forget. £30ish? I really should keep better track of this. I'm sorry.

The Background: So way back when we went to Coco Momo, I was trying to remember the name of the new restaurant in Marylebone that started with a B. It was either The Botanist or The Beehive and I was--peversely--nowhere near an Internet connection so Coco Momo it was.

And then when I went to The Duke of Wellington, I thought again of this mysterious restaurant that started with a B. And there it was as I walked down Crawford Street.

So when Rutton suggested a dinner in town, The Beehive it was. Plus, we need to be sensitve to transport costs and our unemployed friend and Marylebone-ite, Richard. We've been seeing a lot of Richard since he and his employer parted ways. In just a few weeks, he's also lost five+ years from his outward appearance. It's truly amazing.

The Entrance: I am (surprise!) early. About 10 minutes so. I've brought Time Out to keep me occupied. But as I enter The Beehive, who do I see but Richard AND Rutton. Drinking Sancerre. Eating hummous. If I didn't know better, I would have thought them a couple. Jose is not so very late. It's a very rare moment, me, not sitting around, not playing with my phone.

So then I think about myself, sitting at a nice table in a nice pub with nice food, surrounded by three very nice and very handsome men, and I think to myself, life is good. (None are single or romantically uncomplicated if you're wondering.)

The Food: The boys split the côte de bœuf, three-ways. I opt for a chicken dish with a mysterious name that basically means it's served in tomato sauce. And with chips. An odd and slightly pedestrian combination, but I go for it anyhow. Richard admires the river of blood swimming around the côte de bœuf while I dig into my dish, which looks bland and uninteresting in comparison to the massacre (in a good way) of meat next to me.

But surprise, surprise. The chicken is nice. Crispy on the outside, tender on the inside. Almost like it's been boiled in a bag and then pan-friend? I should have asked. The tomato sauce packs a nice and juicy punch. The chips are just chips. But that doesn't stop any of us from eating them.

The Loos: Decently clean. I've seen far, far worse. This was above average.

The Service: Excellent. Good tips, good info on the menu. Knew the wine list. Rutton blew my cover at the end though. (Rutton, you MUST stop doing that.)

The Verdict: Richard said he'd go back. This says a lot. He has pretty excellent taste. For an unemployed guy.

Some Other Thoughts: As I was titling this post, I couldn't decide to call The Beehive a Gastropub or not. It just doesn't feel right, calling it a gastropub. It seems more like a pub with food, but pricier than a regular pub with food. The Guardian's Word of Mouth Blog had a post along these lines last week. I don't know. You tell me.

Oh yes, and here's a shameless plug, you can read this little profile of me over at Delicious Magazine Online...

Duke of Wellington

The Duke of Wellington
94a Crawford Street
W1H 2HQ
Tel: 020 7723 2790

Date of Last Visit: Wednesday June 18th

The Victims: Rutton, Ted, Eve, Richard, Jason, Mark, Patrick

The Damage: £40ish each

The Background: Jason is in town from New York so Richard has organized dinner. Jason is the only person I know who's actually FROM the Hamptons. When I tell people I'm from Long Island, they will often say, "Oh, the Hamptons?" Which I suppose is a compliment because maybe I have that sort of fresh-faced J. Crew sort of look about me. (If you're not familiar with J. Crew, Boden is a good proxy.) And I do like Lacoste. But I'm not from the Hamptons. And I only wish my hair was as shiny and my legs were as long as a J. Crew model's.

So we meet up at the Duke of Wellington--I am, I believe, wearing Boden!--and I walk by The Beehive and am intrigued. (When we went to Coco Momo the other weekend, I suggested we try out the new place that started with a B but I couldn't remember the name. And there it is now, right in front of me.)

The Entrance: The Duke of Wellington seems smallish and dark, but maybe it's because there are so many of us, and everyone is taller than me. We are shown a table by the entrance and by the loos (how convenient) and promptly begin to demolish about five bottles of Rioja. This was not my idea.

The Food: A number of us order the lasagna, about which we're told, "It's made with a different pasta. Is that okay?" We all ask if it's still lasagna, and our server keeps explaining yes, but with a different pasta.

I don't think our server has ever had lasagna before. About the only thing it has in common with lasagna is pasta.

The Verdict: Don't order the lasagna. Not only is it not lasagna, it's not very good either. The side salad was nice though.

Gastro: Magdala

Magdala
2A South Hill Park
NW3 2SB
Tel: 020 7435 2503

Date of Last Visit: Sunday, 10 February 2008

The Victims: Gerry, Ben, Christiaan, Cat

The Damage: £20ish? I still owe Ben money.

The Story: Why, when I'm not drinking beer these days, I choose to spend all my time in pubs, I cannot tell you. Why I'm also finding myself playing a lot of games (game games, not mind games), I also cannot tell you. Logic problems. Scrabulous on Facebook. Prolific (formerly Bogglific) on Facebook. Phase 10. (My new favorite game.) Hmmm.

I do like games. And games in a pub are even better. And games in a pub on one of the most beautiful Sundays in a while...now that's just a great way to while away an afternoon. Put me on an eerie winning streak, and well...

So we are at Magdala in Belsize Park and the sun is so bright and streaming through the windows that my large, "beautiful people" sunglasses are being passed around the table to protect us from the glare.

The Food: No one if hungry but me (of course) so I order the parsnip soup. Gerry follows suit. It's supposed to come with ciabatta, but it doesn't. (See, you can see ciabatta clearly listed on the menu! So I was not imagining things.) But the standard bread basket is really nice...tomato bread? So we survive.

I also order a pasta dish--pesto and spinach and tomatoes and there's a mention of Stinking Bishop but I ignore that, unwisely so as it turns out. The pasta is served over a big fist-sized wedge of stinking bishop. And this is just so much more stinking bishop than I was prepared to eat. The overall taste of the dish is one of flatness. And I find myself reaching for the salt. But who puts salt on pasta? Hmmm.

The Loos: Possess a Dyson Air Blade!

The Verdict: I liked the service. I liked the sunniness of it all. I did not overly enjoy my food, but I'm sure many people would be perfectly happy.

Coming Soon...Tokyo Diner, Oops, Abeno Too, Yauatcha macaroons

Gastro: St. John (Archway)

St. John
91 Junction Road
N19 5QU
020 7272 1587

The Vicitms: Al, Louise, Darshak, Abba

The Damage: £35ish because Al was kind and didn't make me pay for the wine. This means that he enjoyed nearly an entire bottle on his own. I'm sorry, Al.

The Background: Ever since Al & Louise moved to Archway and Gerry & Ben moved to Holloway, I've been expanding my geographic horizons. I've been getting to know the London bus system better, assisting me in my "Year of the Bus" campaign. (At 90p, how can you not take the bus???)

I'd heard raves from both couples about St. John, so I was really eager to give it whirl. Al managed to get a late booking for a Friday night, which I felt awful about because it meant bundling up baby Oscar and keeping him up past his bedtime. (To clarify, Oscar is Al & Louise's baby; not mine.) But really, Oz didn't seem to mind and we didn't hear a peep out of him all night, bless him.

So--Entrance: Entrance is good. I like it. There's a bar up front and a restaurant in the back. I like the restaurant decor. There are many portraits on the wall, seemingly by the same artist. It's cool. It's somewhat library-esque too, although it's not a library. I can't explain it. Gentleman's club maybe? Regardless, it was dark and warm and inviting. And it's raining outside (again). So we're all very cozy.

Random Thoughts about Alcohol: So I'm taking a break from alcohol this January. I noticed Girl Dates London is doing the same, although January doesn't seem to be slowing down Stonch over at Stonch's Beer Blog or Douglas over at The Daily Wine. In veto'ing the vino, I've noticed a couple of things:
1. There's a lot of food out there with alcohol in it. (More to come on this in a bit.)
2. People look at you funny on a Friday night when you order a cranberry & soda. (I think C&S is much more interesting than just sticking with tap water.)
3. Some waitstaff can handle the non-drinkers more maturely and appropriately than others. (I will come back to No. 5 Cavendish Square in a few days and highlight how annoyingly pushy they were, and insensitive given that we were dining with a number of Muslims--obviously so. And maybe I was over-analyzing it the other night but I think the servers at Roka were desperate for us to order something besides water and tea.)
4. It's amazing what you can accomplish on a Saturday morning at 8 a.m.

I digress, so let's get back to the food...

The Starters: I order the crab bisque. And then I realize that there's probably alcohol in it. Al tries to reassure me that all the alcohol has been cooked off, but if I'm going to do this no alocohol thing, I'm going to do it right. I switch to the artichoke soup and it is FANTASTIC. I would love nothing more than to come home to this on a Sunday afternoon when it's raining outside, Nina Simone is on the radio, and there's a yellow lab at my feet. (For the record, I'm allergic to dogs, but this is a nice image isn't it?) We are off to a good start.

The Mains: I can't choose. I end up with the ribeye and chips which is odd for me because I'm not a steak person, really. The chips are nothing special. The ribeye is kinda messy. How can a steak be messy? It's almost like it's part braised or something. Or perhaps cooked once to rare and then cooked again to medium? I can't explain it. But it was just not for me.

The Dessert: I ask for the caramel ice cream. They're out. But our server recommends the rum raisin ice cream. No no no...alcohol--it's everywhere! I opt for vanilla and it's served with a little piece of shortbread that almost redeems my steak.

The Loos: Dirty, dirty, dirty. And cold. Cold and dirty is a bad combination. A good power washing, a smelly candle, and a flower or two would do wonders.

What I Learned: Abba assures me that there are NO monkeys in Delhi. This is interesting because my co-workers swear they were mauled by a swarm of wild monkeys in Delhi. 

The Verdict: I'm going to give St. John another shot. It's the artichoke soup. I can't stop thinking about it.