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Le Café Anglais

Le Café Anglais
8 Porchester Gardens
W2 4DB

Date of Last Visit: Tuesday, March 24, 2009

The Victims: Charlie, Lizzie, Niamh

The Damage: Only to my liver

The Background: I know a few things about Le Café Anglais before embarking upon my inaugural visit and review. I know that it is in a shopping mall. I know that it used to be a McDonald's. And I know that it's owned by a guy named Charlie who told me that the walk from Sambrook's Brewery to The Westbridge would only take five minutes.

Charlie is a liar.

Nevertheless, he is a very generous liar, and he also seems to be the owner (or one of the owners?) of Le Café Anglais and he has invited me to dinner--over Twitter no less--and I cannot say no. Anything, you know, is better than a dinner of pretzels and hummus from my local Turkish grocery store. Although I do love pretzels.

The Entrance: I head west and arrive at Le Café Anglais nearly on time. I run into Lizzie in the entranceway and we make our way upstairs to say hi to Charlie and enjoy some bellinis and wait for Niamh. I ask Charlie where the Mickey D registers/tills used to be (up front, towards Bayswater, he tells us) and I admire the windows, which are, apparently, original.

Le Café Anglais is a big space. And there are lots of big tables. Tables for four. Tables for six. If you're even the tiniest bit posh, you should bring your grandparents here when they come to visit you in London. You'll like it. They'll like it. It will be perfect.

The Food: And so it begins. Charlie eats at Le Café Anglais all the time. So I really don't even bother with the menu. I think I might have volunteered that I like anchovies and bacon and I don't like mushrooms. That's about it.

The starters arrive--that's SOME of them in the top photo--and I do fall in love with the parmesan custard with anchovy toasts. It's the type of dish that tempts me to cook. Anchovies? Toast? Surely, I can make "anchovy toast."

And then the parade of food arrives. I was overwhelmed. If not for Charlie's notes, I would be sitting here telling you that I ate some eel and bacon and then some fish that had been mashed through a special machine that I'm convinced does not exist and then I ate some cheese and drank some Vouvray and then, well, then I went home.

And then YOU could call ME a liar.

Or perhaps...economical with the truth. Because we had a lot of dishes. A lot. Like enough to make me consider--however briefly--the London Marathon. Because surely, if I were training for a marathon, I could eat like this all the time.

Here, the warm salad of eel and smoked bacon. Eel is seriously one of my favorite things. (Separate, but related...eel and goat...you will see them many places this year, and everywhere next year. I predict. And for those of you who read The New York Times, I was totally down with the goat (minds out of gutters please) before they were.)

Spinach Mousse with Salsify and Morels...I love spinach. I mean, really, like Popeye. And I loved this creation of spinach. It was really lovely and different and interesting. (I also love this photo where I'm taking a photo of Lizzie taking a photo of spinach mousse.)

Middle White Pork and Apple Sauce. I stole some more of the crispy bits while no one was looking.

A cheese plate...a fantastically beautiful cheeseplate of Brie de Meaux, Chèvre St Maure, Duckett’s Caerphilly, Fourme d’Ambert, Lancashire, Montgomery Cheddar, Parmigiano-Reggiano and St Marcellin. I just with there had been little paper signs on toothpicks.

Custard Tart with Prunes. Now this was nice and comforting and homey and everything right about dessert. Except for prunes. Prunes are evil.

The Loos: I remember using the loos--only very vaguely because really copious amounts of wine were consumed--and thinking, "Hmmm. These are okay. But they can do better. They should visit The Ledbury." Power washing...Charlie, if you're reading this, it's the future.

The Verdict: This is a tough review to write. A. I can't really complain because it was free and B. I can't complain because the anchovy toasts and parmesan custard have seriously changed my life and C. I can't complain because I've never experienced a cheeseplate like that and D. I can't complain because our host dipped into his private wine collection for us.

But I can probably say...
Somebody REALLY likes radishes. Personally, I'm not a huge fan.
I would have a hard time eating here alone. It's just so BIG.
We never did get that tour of the kitchen.
We didn't meet the chef.
And the duck was only okay.

But really, you should go for the parmesan custard and anchovy toasts alone.

Urban Turban

Urban Turban
98 Westbourne Grove
W2 5RU
Tel:  020 7243 4200

Date of Last Visit: Tuesday, August 12

The Victim: Fellow London restaurant blogger, Jess

The Damage: £60 total, but I drank more than Jess (like I always do, except for that time at The Ledbury earlier this year--which I still haven't written about--when I wasn't drinking at all) so we split it £40/£20.

The Background: Jess, my fellow London restaurant blogger, has been busy. Very busy. My busy-ness pales in comparison. We are trading notes at Urban Turban in the pouring, pouring rain.

When I first moved to London, I had two little tiny umbrellas. The kind that fold up and fit in your pocket. I never remembered to bring them anywhere, so I would more often than not walk around town sopping wet. Nowadays, I have about twelve umbrellas (and a tumble dryer), most of the umbrellas given to me by taxi drivers because I am totally shameless. When I am in a taxi in the pouring rain, I often tell my drivers about my two measly umbrellas and how I can't believe how often it rains here.

What I've learned is that most cab drivers have their own stash of found umbrellas under their front seat. Ask, and you shall receive.

But of course, the more things change, the more things stay the same. Even though I now I have about 12 umbrellas, they're always at home. Or at the office. Never in my bag.

The Drinks: Urban Turban strikes me as the sort of place that would have lots of umbrellas. The little paper kind that they stick in drinks. I don't have the chance to test this theory because I stick to Proseco. And beer. And Jess has a glass of rose. But Urban Turban has something a little festive about it. Particularly downstairs, which looks a little clubby for an Indian restaurant. But I suppose everyone needs a gimmick.

The Food: Jess and I have so many stories to trade that umbrellas (the real sort) are not necessary after our naan and chicken tikka and spicy prawns and saag paneer. (And prosecco. And rose. And beer.) The skies are clear again, although my brain is a little foggy. Partly with the alcohol. Partly with the food for thought. That Jess, she is full of insights! We've had a lot of fun for a random Tuesday night.

The Verdict: You know, here's the thing with me and Indian food. I still feel like my takeaway next door serves food just as good if not better for one-third of the price. While Urban Turban has a nice modern vibe about it and it seems like a fun place, I'm not entirely certain the food is worth the dinero. Oh, and the "Indian tapas" thing and the "street food" thing...I don't get that either.

Chinese: Four Seasons

Four Seasons
84  Queensway
W2 3RL
Tel: 020 7229 4320

Date of Last Visit: Sunday, April 20, 2008

The Victims: Rutton, Jay, Orvis

The Damage: £20 each

The Background: Running is both a good and a bad thing. It's good, of course, for your cardiovascular system. It's good for losing weight. It's good for increasing endurance.

It's bad, however, in that it creates--for me anyhow--a license to eat.

Meaning, I'm starving.

The Food: Not one but TWO whole ducks. Peking Duck and Crispy Duck. I can't really tell the difference. Shame on me.

Chinese broccoli. I want to eat all of it. I've always had a fondness for broccoli. Egg-fried rice, which I'm not so crazy about normally, but which I polish off like there's no tomorrow once it arrives. It's good. Sticky. Good.

A mysterious beef platter. We order the sizzling kind--you know, the type they bring to the table with a flourish while it's still making noise--but we just get something with beef and green peppers, no sizzle.  It's a little gooey. I prefer the duck pancakes.

All washed down with copious amounts of tea, water, and talk about property (of course) and our investment banking friends and the storm they're weathering.

The Loo: UGGGGHHHH. Plus, the floor outside the loo was coated in duck fat, I swear.

The Verdict: There's just something about that egg-fried rice!

Bar Food: Westbourne House

Westbourne House
65 Westbourne Grove
W2 4UJ
020 7229 2233

The Date: Sunday January 13, 2008

The Victims: Rutton, Evren

The Damage: £20 or maybe even a bit less.

The Background: I've walked into a Timeout photo shoot. Seriously. They are there taking photos of the cocktails at Westbourne House. Good sign, I think. But too bad I'm not drinking. Sigh. It's too early for a cocktail anyhow. It's not yet 3 p.m.!

My college roommate Erin--her grandfather had these rules. Firstly, Gin & Tonic is a summer drink. And only a summer drink. White Russians are acceptable at other times of year.  Secondly, there is no drinking before 3 p.m. These rules still boomerang through my brain when I find myself at a garden party on a Saturday afternoon at 1 p.m. Because you know, that's what I do with my Saturdays.

Well, I'm not at a garden party and it's not Saturday. And I don't even like gin & tonics. But here I am, sitting in a very empty Westbourne House during PRIME brunch time. And there's nothing going on. Maybe they should offer pancakes or something. Blueberry pancakes would be nice.

But in come Rutton and Evren and there are no blueberry pancakes. So it's a steak sandwich and a steak sandwich (no bloody Mary, but I was so very tempted to put it on the Underhills bill) and a club sandwich of some sort. Fries on the side. Hmmm.

The Verdict: Only if it was my only option. Good. Just good. Nothing special. I was kinda miffed for heading all the way across town for this one.

Random Excitement...I'm bringing in the pros and Botoxing up the blog. I've suggested Matt Bites, Food Beam, Lovescool, and Amateur Gourmet as sites I like the look and feel of. Are there others? As I've been trolling the Internet for inspiration, I've been been awed by the numbers of Bloggers out there. Who knew we had so much to say?

Even More Random Excitement...I remembered some other sites I like the look and feel of...Eggbeater, Find Your Craving, and Pomegranita/Love Made Visible.

Coming Soon to this London food blog...Cancun Round-up, Tokyo Diner in Leicester Square, pastries in Chinatown, Magdla in Belsize, Oops in Covent Garden...

Holy Baklava! Green Valley

Green Valley
36-37 Upper Berkeley Street
Marylebone
W1H 5QE
Tel: 020 7402 7385

The Coral – In the Morning

Oh I know what I'm bringing to Feathers' Christmas Party now! If you've never been to Green Valley, I highly recommend a visit the next time you're around Marble Arch/Oxford Street/Edgware Road. It's not a big grocery store, but it sure is packed with lots of interesting treats. The windows are stuffed full of Baklava--in case you haven't noticed. In the back, there's a great looking butcher counter and then the prepared foods look lovely. I almost bought a kilo of artichoke bottoms. But I didn't. I just looked.

Indian: Shola

Shola
130 Edgware road
W2 2DZ

Date of Last Visit: Sunday, October 14th

The Victims: Vir, Evren, Richard, Rutton

The Damage: £20-something each

The Background: I have never been to the Frieze Fair. I read about it every year, but somehow never quite make it.

This year, I made it. And now I can truly say, "Been there. Done that."

And I'm never going back.

And I like art! (But I guess that's like saying I like bread. Everyone must like art, no?)

But I think I like modern art better than contemporary art. And I think I like fonts and patterns and designs and Scandinavian things more than anything else.

It was the dead horse at the Frieze fair that did it for me. That is not art! That is taxidermy, firstly. And secondly, dead horses are GROSS.

But let me get into my meal here, and I promise that there are no dead horses involved.

I am hanging out with bankers. And like all good bankers in London on a Sunday afternoon, we are at The Westbourne. (For the record, I am not a banker. But I do enjoy the odd discounted-cash-flow-model and I know what CAPM is.) I have my very large and dark sunglasses with me (this year's model are from Calvin Klein courtesy of Stansted Duty Free), but it is unfortunately too dark for them to be of any use. That being said, this doesn't deter many a Westbourne patron from wandering in and out of the pub with their sunnies on.

The topic of food arises, and Vir suggests an Iranian restaurant...we hop in a taxi only to arrive and find it 200% packed, and it's a Sunday night. I have been blindfolded and sworn to secrecy regarding the name and location of this place, and I am not ever allowed to write a restaurant review about it. (If i do review it, I can't reveal its name.) I can tell you that I think it was yellow inside. We are turned away.

So instead, we head to Shola, where Vir knows the owner. My cover is completely blown when my Moo card is provided to the restaurant staff and I am introduced as a famous London restaurant critic. (Although my blog is popular with the people, it's not THAT popular, although they did ask me to be on Market Kitchen!) I lose any and all arguments about how this is supposed to work.

The Food: A whole lot of nan, and the other bread--whose name escapes me, but it's almost tortilla-like. Then there are some lamb chops, which I love. And some chicken that's been marinated and grilled and is lovely. Someone orders more beer at this point which is a very very bad idea. Luckily, they are out of beer! And I am momentarily happy until the guys (bankers, after all) question how the restaurant could be out of beer.

The restaurant staff run across the street to buy some for us.

From here, things get a little hazy, but I remember sitting in front of the lentils and really enjoying those. There was a lot of food. Too much. I tried a bit of everything but as I sit here a few nights later writing this, I can only remember the lamb chops, the lentils, and all the nan and <insert mysterious bread name here>.

The Loos: Yuk.

The Verdict: Not a destination, that's for sure. If I lived in the area, I might drop in to pick up a take-away every so often. And if I were having a party, I might ask for a platter of 50 lamb chops.

Pizza: Mulberry Street

84 Westbourne Grove
W2 5RT
Tel: 020 7313 6789

Date of Last Visit: 1 July 2007

The Victims: Rutton, Zarmina

The Damage: £13 per person with Diet Cokes.

The Background: I think I saw someone famous last night. I met Bryan and Stacey and their friend Jason at Green & Red for some tasty Mexican snacks, and then we dropped into Loungelover for some £11 cocktails. (Hear me repeating...I'm worth it. I'm worth it.) And there in the bar, not five feet from me, was someone who looked an awful lot like Colleen McLoughlin. (That's Wayne Rooney's girlfriend, in case you didn't know. Hey, I only know because I read Grazia.)

Well, this has absolutely nothing to do with my lunch with Rutton and Zarmina on Sunday, but I thought it was exciting.

Anyhow, I wanted to try out Mulberry Street. Or Bloody French. Both have so-so reviews. Hmmmm. I tell R & Z this and we almost go someplace else, but then we walk by Mulberry Street, and it looks okay.

The Food: We order a regular pizza--1/2 with eggplant "parmigiana" and the other half with pepperoni and jalapenos. The eggplant side is bland and disappointing. The pepperoni side is nice. But the pizza is not cooked enough in the middle. I am disappointed.

Our server assures us that the ceasar salad is big enough for three. Well, it's not. And it kinda sucks. No, it definitely sucks. It's so limp and lackluster. Whoever made it has never had a proper ceasar in their life. There are tomatoes and olives in it. Weird.

The Atmosphere: The upstairs looks really cute. But the downstairs is boring. There's nothing on the walls. And it's too dark. At one point, Rutton announces that he can't see his food because of the shadow from the pizza pan.

The Verdict: Hmmm. They gotta work on the crispness of the pizza in the middle. And they definitely need to  come up with a different ceasar salad. And bring up the lights a notch in the basement, please.

Meat Overload: Rodizio Rico

111 Westbourne Grove
W2 4UW
Tel: 0871 332 3831

Date of Last Visit: Friday, June 23, 2006

The Victims: Kristi, Adrien

The Damage: 28 quid each

The Set Up: K&A are not huge fans of British beef. They keep trying, but nothing compares--in their opinion--to good ole' American beef. Not being a huge red meat eater myself--Does duck count as red meat? It is red. But it's fowl, right?--I cannot speak to this subject. But I trust their judgement.

Hence how we end up at Rodizio Rico. They have meat, lots of it. And it's all-you-can-eat! Unheard of for this country. And K had called ahead and asked where their beef comes from. Now, supposedly, their red meat comes all the way from Brazil. I find this hard to believe, but that's what they said. My Uncle George, the recreational tuna fisherman, would want to know how long ago those cows went to cow heaven.

The Starters: Rodizio Rico offers a salad bar. An ALL-YOU-CAN-EAT salad bar. I love Rodizio Rico already. Why this country (meaning the UK) hasn't embraced the all-you-can-eat-salad-bar, well, I just don't get it. Now I should note that this particular salad bar was a little short on salad, but chock full of rice and beans, potatoes, and all sorts of delicious carbs. Yum! We stocked up.

The Mains: Then the meat parade began. And I do mean parade. Men kept dropping by our table with huge slabs of meat and big knives. And boy was I glad that A speaks portugese because I do think we got a little preferential treatment. The red meat kept coming and coming. Most of the other folks didn't see the beef as often as we did. They got lots of pork and ham (are they the same or different?) and chicken. Not us. K&A probably had three full steaks between them. I had a couple of pieces of the beef and it was pretty delicious. You can't go wrong with this stuff cooked in a big fireplace. Ialso enjoyed a delicious piece of chicken wrapped in bacon--yum! But I skipped out on the chicken hearts.

After a while though, I started getting ill. There was just SO much meat. I couldn't take it anymore. So I switched to rice and beans, and although the beans weren't brown (they were more red than brown), they were still pretty good.

The Verdict: Without drinks, our bill would have been a reasonable 18 quid each. Not bad, particularly with our Brazilian connection (A) getting us all the top quality stuff. Add the margaritas and caipirinhas though and the bill will sky rocket from there. This would be a good group outing kind of place, or maybe for a stag night or something.

Que Loco!: Crazy Homies

127 Westbourne Park Rd
W2 5QL
Tel: 0871 0755844

Date of Last Visit: Monday, May 1

The Victims: Julie, Kristi, Adrien

Given my previous day, it was time to re-celebrate my birthday. Julie and I met up at The Westbourne, where we were instantly sad we weren't Swedish and wearing dark sun glasses. Al & Louise joined us before jetting off to the theatre and we passed a leisurely few hours.

But then it was time: 6 p.m. I had been planning this for weeks. Crazy Homies. Mexican food. Yes. Mexican. Si. Si. Si. I had eaten at Crazy Homes before--sort of...Rutton ordered take-away from CH for the Superbowl back in January, so I was familiar with their guac and some of their different salsas. But I had never actually eaten IN at Crazy Homies.

Although I had been muy triste the day before--mis Cumpleanos--I was muy contento on May 1st, sitting there, drinking margaritas and eating tortilla chips and guacomole and all different types of salsa.

The chips and salsa at Crazy Homies is truly to be commended. It's fantastico. Really. We could not get enough. It was a big bowl of chips (I'm wondering how long this will last--this big bowl) and delicious guac and interesting salsas. And they refilled all without charging us any extra. (Secretly, behind now used to London, I'm wondering if they just forgot about charging and if we were, instead, just lucky.) On the upside for them, their margaritas were delicious but so full of ice that they were all margin. So maybe that's the secret.

We had many margaritas. Many. And then we ordered our food. Now, I used to eat Mexican (or Tex-Mex or whatever you want to call it) quite often, so when I saw Gringas on the menu, I was a bit intrigued. I had never heard of Gringas before, although I know Gringas means white girls. Being as such, I ordered the Gringas.

And I learned that Gringas means Quesadilla in Crazy Homies parlance. This makes me sad because Quesadillas to this Long Island girl are not MAINS. They are starters. So I wasn't too excited.

My gringas were delicious though. I cannot truly complain. I just wish I had ordered the Burro (aka English for American "Burrito"). I do enjoy a delicious burrito.

I must mention that during the time we were there, this crazy homie came in and played 50s and 60s ska and it was so perfect. And he had dancing Barbies. It was cool.

Ah, well, I suppose that is all. We loved our chips and salsa. We loved our gringas. And the music. And Adrien loved his burrito.

The Veridct: I will go back many many times.

They're Everywhere: Maroush IV

68 Edgware Road
London W2 2EG
020 7224 9339

Date of Last Visit: Sunday, March 19

The Victims: Brian, Sarah, Bernard, Rafa, Anna, Dan, Simone, Damien, Suneeta, Aroma, Tony, Barry, Chris Evelien

The Damage: Really reasonable. A feast, for something like 14 quid each (no alcohol).

Brian and I had planned on brunch for about 8 people. If we were lucky. As usual, I was on time, and everyone else was not. Brian arrived about 15 minutes later, followed by Aroma and Tony. We grabbed a spot at Maroush IV. Please note that there are quite a few Maroush's around Edgware Road. Make sure you've got the right one. We were in the one on the corner.

Well, at 2:30 p.m., we were 6, and by 3 p.m, we were 10 and then at 3:30, we were 13. The poor waitstaff remained pleasant throughout, even though we were pains. They get points for that.

We put Chris in charge of ordering, and he did a fine job as always. Lots of hummous and babaganoush and that special deep fried cheese that's oh so good, but so, so, so bad. Ah yes, the labda, which I've written about before. I love Labna. (Is it cheese or is it yogurt?) Chris also ordered us up some meat ball things and some sort of shish kebab like meat. My least favorite part was the meat that looked like parma ham. I normally like everything, but it really was too strong tasting.

Lots of people enjoyed freshly squeeze fruit juice throughout their meal. Sarah was suspicious about how freshly squeezed it would be, but was highly complimentary of her juice when it arrived.

At the end of our meal, they brought us out all these delicious Lebanese pastries. Like baklava, only tinier and more delicious. When we left the restaurant, there were still a few sitting there and I really just wanted to scoop them all into my pocket, they were so, so good. I'm still thinking about them, two weeks later. Lovely.

The Verdict: You can't go wrong with any of the Maroushes.