Wednesday, 20 May 2009

Restaurant: Quo Vadis

Having divorced parents may leave you with all manner of deep-seated personal issues necessitating years of expensive therapy, but it has its advantages too. Chief among them is the fact that, on your birthday, you get taken out to two nice restaurants instead of just the one.


As mentioned in my previous post this happy event occurred not long ago and, a few days after my father had treated us to dinner at Del Parc, my mother took James and me to Quo Vadis.


The name is Latin for “where are you going?” which is apt since the restaurant has a pretty chequered history. You can read plenty about it elsewhere but, incase you can’t be snatched, I shall sum it up thusly: Soho institution... 1926... Karl Marx... Marco Pierre White... Damien Hirst... falling out... yada, yada, yada...

It was recently taken over by Sam and Eddie Hart, the culinary brothers behind Spanish restaurants Fino and Barrafina, both of which I like a lot. They’ve abandoned the tapas thing for Quo Vadis though and it’s menu is instead “modern British”. It has been raved about by everyone who reviewed it and it’s not cheap either so (although I wasn’t paying) I was expecting great things. My expectations weren't dashed exactly - we had a lovely time - but they were slapped about a bit. Albeit in the most genteel way possible.


The stained-glass windows are pleasingly “old Soho” and once you get inside it’s all buttery leather banquettes, sparkling glassware and ever-so-slightly-camp Continental waiters. Things started very well with the house apéritif of Campari, Champagne and clementine juice which was delicious. My starter was fantastic too: a little heap of sweet, brown shrimps served on toasted sourdough bread with - classy touch this - half a lemon tied up in muslin so the pips didn’t fall out when you squeezed it. My Mama had crab mayonnaise and James had asparagus, both of which looked very nice but we were all rather too protective of our tiny portions to share.


Our waiter was sweet, but rather over-attentive and kept complimenting our decisions, a practise I always find a bit strange - surely saying something is a “good choice” implies that ordering some of the other things on the menu would be a mistake? Not the impression any professional kitchen would like to give...


My main of Beef Wellington was a) huge and b) hugely overpriced. If memory serves it came in at not much under £30 (£30!). It was a good piece of meat, cooked medium rare as requested, but the pastry case was a little soggy. This was, in part, because it was sitting on a pile of lovely, buttery spinach and surrounded by a pool of impressively savoury, glossy brown gravy, neither of which I could fault, but still... this dish alone was the price of a whole dinner in a lesser establishment so ‘good’ isn't really good enough. At the prices Quo Vadis charges everything ought to be perfect.


Side dishes were well done - tender purple sprouting broccoli and buttery al dente greens - but the servings were microscopic. Little white dishes, about four inches long and three wide (I have just looked at a ruler so I’m pretty confident of those measurements) and priced at £4.50 each. (More outrage: £4.50! etc. etc.)


I was as full as anything afterwards, but it was my birthday (week) so I courageously found room for a piece of treacle tart, as lovely an example of it’s kind as you could ever hope to find, served with a little scoop of clotted cream.


So, quo vadis? The answer, I think, is ‘not back there again’. I enjoyed my meal, just not so much that I’d be willing to pay (or have a close relative pay) to repeat the experience. I suspect this fact won’t distress the Hart brothers too much though: the restaurant wasn’t packed on the Monday night we visited, but it wasn’t empty either and the other customers looked to be mostly bankers. I hear Michael Winner is also a regular (poor Sam and Eddie). My mother is a very generous lady and showed no sign of minding the steep prices but, if she offers to buy me a celebratory meal next year, I shall choose a venue where I am less likely to run into the director of Death Wish.


Quo Vadis

26-29 Dean Street, London, W1D 3LL

0207 437 9585

Friday, 8 May 2009

Restaurant: Del Parc

It was my birthday recently. My 30th birthday. I would have liked a whole month of celebration - one day for every year of my remarkable existence - but nobody else seemed up for that. I did pretty well though, managing to stretch the festivities over a good ten days, starting with papa Heal giving me the shiny thing I had had my eye on for months and buying James and me a celebratory dinner at my favourite local restaurant.

I’m actually quite reluctant to tell people about Del Parc because then they might start going there and I wouldn’t be able to get a table any more. The food is Moorish-influenced tapas of the sort I imagine Moro would serve, but couldn’t tell you for certain because I can’t afford to go there. Del Parc is a fraction of the cost (you can be pleasantly full of delicious things - and share a bottle of wine - for under £30 a head) and the cooking is easily good enough to make it a destination restaurant, yet (fortunately for me) it remains a local secret. Giles Coren mentioned it briefly but otherwise news of the Archway foodie revolution (no, really: 500 - pronounced cinquecento - has also considerably upped the area’s game) has got no further than N19 itself.


Del Parc is run by just two men, one who cooks and one who does front of house. Except it shouldn’t really be called that because the tiny kitchen isn't behind anything, it's right in the middle of the room.

There’s a very relaxing atmosphere: tasteful, neutral colours and the odd, slightly incongruous, Buddha hanging about. The focus is definitely on the food though, which comes as it’s ready. This means you get to enjoy one intensely flavoured dish at a time rather than forking up a mess of tortilla, chorizo and patatas bravas from your plate as you would in many other London tapas joints.


It’s all lovely stuff, but of particular note are the balls of deep-fried goat’s cheese (I never know where to put the apostrophe in that - does the cheese belong to many goats or just to one?) drizzled with honey and the fatayer, a triangular filo parcel filled with spinach and feta but made uniquely delicious with the addition of pomegranate sours. I’ve eaten at Del Parc three times now and this is the dish I actively pine for between visits.


They weren’t on the (seasonally changing) menu this time, but also worth a mention are the baby squid stuffed with chorizo. In so many restaurants squid is just a texture, but here its delicately fishy flavour comes through to balance the paprika hit of the sausage and a piquantly sweet tomato sauce.


If it’s even vaguely sunny, I like to drink pink wine - it makes me feel summery - so we had a bottle of rosé between us too. I finished with a lovely home-made passionfruit ice-cream for pudding, even though I wasn’t remotely hungry any more, because you’re allowed to do things like that on your birthday. Or on any of the days surrounding it.


It really is a gem of a place and I'd urge you to go. But just not too often and not on evenings that I happen to want a table.



Del Parc

167 Junction Road, London, N19 5PZ

0871 3328182