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Tag: Restaurant Review

  • Ronel Lehmann reviews Jeremy King’s new restaurant Arlington: “an inspirational overcoming of adversity.”

    Arlington Restaurant Review: A Delightful Dining Experience with Jeremy King, by Ronel Lehmann

     

    When Karin Stark, wife of the late Dave Allen, described how life was without her comedian husband, she movingly said: “It’s like being a very long way from home.” Those words always struck a chord with me. To an avid restaurant goer, it felt the same, only this time on a happier occasion to be greeted by Jeremy King in his new abode, Arlington in St James’s.

    I had to research whether there had ever been a battle of Arlington. Indeed, there had, at the time of the American Civil War. The Arlington National Cemetery is also the final resting place for many of the United States’ greatest heroes, including more than 300,000 veterans of every American conflict, from the Revolutionary War to Iraq and Afghanistan.

     

    The reason for my own sudden conflict was learning that my own Editor had wanted to visit Arlington and write a review, and I had unintentionally usurped him.

    My marketing director guest had arrived just before me, although I wasn’t late, and she was by then well tucked into a small table facing other diners. I had the window outside view, although I was totally focussed on the dazzling finish of the interior, with its new tablecloths, black furniture, polished steel, mirrors, lighting and framed prints.

    The menus arrived and felt immediately comforting. It was a Monday lunch, the start of a new week and we both decided to decline wine. For our starters, we ordered Plum Tomato and Basil Galette and the Spinach and Ricotta Tortelloni. I felt the infusion of wild garlic in the tortelloni which was served warm.

    The main courses of Risotto Nero and Chicken Milanese, Rocket, Parmesan followed suit. My own chicken was beautifully flavoursome. If I am honest, I struggled to finish the huge portion. It was at that moment that I noticed the teeth of my guest opposite. Her mouth had turned completely black. I felt that I needed to do the honourable thing and gently alert her. She was shocked and her white serviette also began to turn black as she delicately wiped her mouth to try and remove traces of the squid ink. At moments like these, we could only laugh together, as I thought that Dracula had arrived.

     

    After the drama of the risotto, we decided to pass on the puddings but enjoy an expresso coffee with some chocolate truffles. Readers will know that I have a sweet tooth and my big eyes noted the temptations of Cappuccino Crème Brûlée, Mousse aux Deux Chocolats, Hokey Pokey Coupe, Treacle Tart with Cornish Clotted Cream, Scandinavian Iced Berries with White Chocolate Sauce, Tarte Tatin with Cinnamon Ice Cream and Rhubarb Crumble with Custard.

    Leaving the restaurant was a bit like old times. You feel valued and don’t receive such a personal and caring gratitude expressed like it anywhere else. Jeremy and I reminisced about what happened to him before. I told him that he was inspirational overcoming adversity and making such a grand return. His long-standing commitment and service to his diners is legendary.

    As I walked away, I remembered Dave Allen again. He once said “You wake to the clock, you go to work to the clock, you clock-in to the clock, you clock out to the clock, you come home to the clock, you eat to the clock, you drink to the clock, you go to bed to the clock, you get up to the clock, you go back to work to the clock… You do that for forty years of your life and you retire — what do they fucking give you? A clock!”

     

    I hope the King of Arlington continues to reign over us and never retires.

  • Crown London Restaurant Review: A Culinary Delight Beneath the Casino

    Ronel Lehmann

     

    It is Safer Gambling Week (13th – 19th November 2023) and I decided to visit a restaurant below a casino where they have launched a new menu.

    Located in the historic heart of Mayfair, the building that houses Crown London dates to the 17th century. Once fondly known as The White Elephant Club, this private dining institution was the place to be and frequented by Hollywood stars and high society. We were greeted by a brass elephant on the front step; a beautiful nod to the past, whilst embracing the present and welcoming in the future.

    As this is a private members club, it took quite a few minutes in reception to register on their iPad, join the Aspinall’s membership and to prove my identity and progress into Crown London. My guest did find this a bit disconcerting until at the end of the next final enrolment pages, we were told that this could have all been completed online before we arrived.

    I hadn’t brought my Passport or Driving Licence, but my guest did, and she was cleared for the dining room before me. I followed behind her to the warmest of welcomes, first from the bar manager who proffered an aperitif or cocktail and then the Restaurant Manager who so welcoming, it felt like coming home.

    It was a cold crisp evening and we elected to be shown straight to the table. We like round tables, and the seating was extremely comfortable. Our serviettes were immediately placed onto our laps, a refreshing warm towel was provided and still water chosen, before a warm breadbasket arrived, and menus placed before us. My guest’s handbag was given a special sofa stool much to her delight so that she wouldn’t have to lean far to grab her mobile phone.

    The dining room was extremely visually attractive as there had been Diwali celebrations the night before. There were more elephants, striking coloured parasols and a variety of spotlights. We hadn’t seen any food yet, but I sensed that it was going to be featuring on Instagram before too long and her handbag was within easy reach.

    As my guest was driving, she elected to have a refreshing blackberry mocktail. There was a debate about whether she preferred sweet or bitter, and when it arrived in all its glory, a punnet of blackberry’s was presented to show the freshness from the hand-picked blackberry bush. It tasted divine until I ordered a glass of Bourgogne Pinot Noir Maison Nuiton-Beaunoy 2020. This was so smooth and chilled.

    Our orders were taken, and the starters arrived promptly. Asparagus soup, poached egg, toasted almonds, black truffle and Devon crab with avocado and lemongrass dressing. The mobile phone camera came out the handbag before we had a chance to savour and savour, we did. The asparagus soup was silken green, and my guest found the egg delicious. I requested some extra lemon but to be fair, the crab had the citrus fruit infused together with chilli.

    After a short pause in which we discussed our new favourite place, the mains arrived. My guest had selected a Sirloin steak served medium with sweet miso sauce and grilled hispi cabbage. She wasn’t a fan of the cabbage, but I tasted it, and found that it was sweeter than others and served with a grilled gratin.

    I ordered the beef cheek, which is one of my favourite dishes. It was served with a celeriac purée, a leek and mushroom croquette. The Barolo 34 sauce was poured around the edge of the plate. I was pleased that we didn’t order any potatoes in preference to two side dishes, a Lebanese salad, cucumber, tomatoes, peppers, mint with pomegranate dressing and grilled vegetables with a rosemary dressing. I chose another glass of red wine and enjoyed the Château Garraud Lalande de Pomerol 2016.

    For puddings, Ginger & lime crème brûlée and Pistachio Lamington with cherry ripple ice cream followed. We were both in heaven and sipped mint tea at the end of the meal. I asked to see the Head Chef and thanked him for the feast.

    As we left the exquisite taste of both deserts lingered on. I imagined that eating at Crown London was better than winning at the roulette table. Let’s talk about Safer Gambling. We never saw a croupier.

     

    www.27restaurantandbar.co.uk

    www.safergamblinguk.org

     

  • Bellamy’s Restaurant Review: A Regal Dining Experience in Mayfair

    Bellamy’s Restaurant Review, Ronel Lehmann

    Hidden off Berkeley Square down Bruton Place is one of the late Queen Elizabeth II’s favourite French restaurants, Bellamy’s in Mayfair. I had never dined there and was delighted when one of my senior colleagues decided to treat me to dinner. There she was sat resplendent at the bar holding fort with a cocktail when I arrived.

    I was immediately relieved of my coat and umbrella whilst the receptionist welcomed me and took a phone call at the same time. I thought about my busy day and how deft I was at multitasking, but she was on another level. Luigi Burgio, Bellamy’s Manager, greeted me as a regular customer which helped set the scene for a special dining experience and ushered us to a corner table.

    Normally I am the host, but my colleague insisted that I behave as a good guest, so I sat regally on the banquet. The first thing that I noticed was the upholstery. It was firm and very supportive of the back, and for once I didn’t need a pillow or be seated on a chair. The waiter was very attentive and sparkling mineral water was chosen.

    Bellamy’s restaurant is a calm oasis, tables are positioned to afford privacy and the walls were full of interesting art and prints. The mirrors positioned beside us allowed you a real time reflection of guest’s arrival and departure without having to look away.

    Gavin Rankin, the owner then arrived and extended us a warm welcome. He stopped by all the tables. I liked his style and genuine care for diners. I learned that his nonagenarian mother still makes the chocolate pudding for the restaurant, and I was salivating at the prospect.

    The menus arrived. It was very comprehensive, and I noted some favourites including, Apple, Endive and Walnut gratin; Salad of Artichoke Heart & Haricot Verts; Ravioles de Royans; Smoked Eel Mousse; and Entrecôte frites. For a moment, it reminded me of my student days in France, when ordering Steak frites. I only discovered after enjoying the meal, that it was in fact horse meat. It was therefore reassuring to read that the Entrecôte was Baynards Park Beef and not from one of the Royal fillies.

    We both elected for the Table D’Hôte, which translates as Table of the Host. Three courses were priced at £35 which struck me as extremely good value.

    We both decided to select the Soupe Paysanne, it was a cold night, the hearty bowl was hot, filling and delicious. After a short break Chicken Breast a l’estragon with mashed potato arrived. It was exceptional and very tender. The potato soaked up the delicious tarragon infused sauce on my plate. When I had run out of potato, I helped myself to my hosts chips. The chips were some of the best I have tasted in London. I continued eating chips. The chopped salad du jour was a perfect accompaniment to our main courses. The sommelier suggested a pairing of red and white wines and my lips still found time to enjoy the lingering after taste of tarragon.

    You cannot ignore the pudding menu and we both went off piste ignoring Crème Catalane. My host chose salted caramel ice cream which was served soft in a frosted glass. I elected to go for the Ile Flottante, so that I could return to the chocolate pudding another time. Yes, I did try the ice cream and it was sensational. My host had enjoyed Ile Flottante before, so by the time I had tried to stop eating her ice cream, I was ready to go to floating heaven. The Ile Flottante was sensational, better than in France. This famous dessert consists of meringue floating on crème anglaise. It was so light and airy.

    We declined coffee, tea and digestives and then a bowl of smooth milk chocolates arrived. Being a gentleman, I did offer to the pay the bill before being chastised and beginning my lonely walk of shame back to transport home. I was sure that I heard a Rossignol (a French Nightingale) sing in Berkeley Square.

     

     

  • Meraki: A Delightful Dining Experience

    Gift of the Gab, Meraki Review, Ronel Lehmann

     

    Planning to visit a restaurant is a bit like being on a conveyor belt. Firstly, you phone to make a reservation. Bubula, known for its middle eastern feasts doesn’t have a phone number for bookings. So, you then resort to sending an email, which results in an out of office reply and then you decide to take your chance for a walk-in table. It seems that everyone else did the same, and the next table was not going to be free for 90 minutes.

    We were patient but not as patient as the welcome and decided to continue up Great Titchfield Street to that famous trattoria, Sergio’s. Despite a warmer welcome than Bubula, they too were fully booked. And so, we stumbled into Meraki. Meraki is a name that indicates a gift of gab – the ability to persuade others effortlessly.

    The good news was that they had a table. The unwelcome news was that we had to endure being told that we had only ninety minutes to enjoy dinner. Then there was passport control. Our name and telephone number were requested so presumably they could capture all our details and market their restaurant to us in future. Or perhaps it was in case there was a fire in the kitchen, and they needed to be sure that we were accounted for during an exit.

     

    Seated at a table for two, the menus arrived. I dispensed with these, saying that the menu needed explaining to us: fortunately the waiter turned out to be more than proficient and courteous. I was still smarting from being cross-examined by reception. Tap water was provided, my guest had a cranberry juice, and I ordered an ice cold Keo, from Cyprus. I always like a light straw-coloured lager and this was no exception.

    The last time we booked a Greek restaurant in Camden, I booked Alexander The Great. It was during the meal I looked out the window to my left and saw the fluorescent sign. We had sat down in Andromeda which was directly opposite and found ourselves in the middle of the meal before noticing. I then had to telephone Alexander The Great from a Greek restaurant opposite to apologise that we were not going to make it. You will appreciate I did not want to look out of the window of Meraki in case border control was searching for me.

    It was time to order. I never like to dwell too much over the menus and don’t like drinking on an empty stomach. Quick choices were made including Aubergine Melitzanosalata, smoked aubergine. parsley, florina pepper; a bread basket containing pita, ladopita, focaccia, sourdough, olive; Mykonian Salad, tomato, ‘kritamo’, cucumber, olive, feta; Taramasalata, white cod roe emulsion, smoked herring caviar, bottarga; Tzatziki, Greek yogurt, garlic, mint, courgette; Hummus, Crispy chickpea, toasted buckwheat seed; before we drew breath. I myself don’t particularly like Taramasalata, however, this tasted unlike any that I have tried before.

    The waiter returned and after topping up our drinks, invited us to try the chicken and lamb kebabs. Two small skewers arrived for each, the chicken was so tender, beautifully marinated with basil and yoghurt. The lamb was served with florina pepper, hummus, parsley. We could have gone on with another round but saved some space for pudding.

    We shared a plate of Saragli, rolled baklava, caramelised nuts and vanilla ice cream.

    On the way out, I remarked to my guest whether we could remember the names of the twelve Greek Gods. They are of course, Zeus, Poseidon, Hera, Hestia, Demeter, Hades, Apollo, Artemis, Hermes, Athena, Hephaestus, Aphrodite and Ares.

    Meraki is right up there.

     

    Ronel Lehmann is Chief Executive of Finito Education

  • Socca Bistro: Ronel Lehmann Reviews an Energetic Dining Experience

    Sock it to them: Ronel Lehmann Reviews Socca Bistro

     

    Our dinner was booked at Mark’s Club, but my host informed me that the establishment was closed for a private event. I am not a member of any club. Instead, he had selected Socca Bistro in Mayfair which had recently opened. As I entered the lobby from the street, I struggled to hand over my coat and umbrella amid the onslaught of other guests arriving at the same time. The cupboard which intended to house personal effects was totally unfit for purpose and inadequate for the number of diners. It is best not to arrive there with a coat or briefcase and the freezing temperatures outside dictated queuing in an open doorway.

     

    The main brasserie was a hive of activity, and I was led to the rear of the restaurant into a private area and a corner table. My host warmly greeted me. He was already drinking tap water and I followed suit. Breads were served, two kinds of focaccia and a type of sourdough. No olive oil or butter was provided. For a while we both ate our bread and drank water.

     

    I noticed that there was a speaker immediately above our heads. Regular readers will know that I hate having to battle trying to have a decent conversation when music is blaring. I did ask the waiter to reduce the sound levels. He kindly obliged and for a short while we could hear each other.

    However, it was too good to be true and the volume increased again, so much so, I had to request another waiter to do something about it. I apologised to my host for making a fuss, until I was told by a member of management that the music is the result of seeking to create ambience in the restaurant. I thought to myself, I was enjoying the atmosphere without needing the insane music. We elected not to move table away from the by now very loudspeaker.

     

    This was supposed to be an early supper. I looked at the menu. Nothing caught my fancy. In fact, everything was fancy. There was a bold notice stating ‘Please always inform your server of any allergies or intolerances before placing your order. Not all ingredients are listed on the menu, and we cannot guarantee the total absence of allergens’. I wondered whether they might show similar tolerance for noise.

     

    My eye finally rested on Provençal Beef Cheeks and Sand carrots.  I asked if it was served with mashed potato. As it wasn’t, I asked for a side of Dauphinoise Potatoes to help soak up the gravy of the beef, however there was a lot of added cream with the gratin. There was only one single solitary carrot resting on the top of the cheek or two cheeks.

     

    My host ordered Steak with Galician Fillet Steak with Maitre D’Hotel Butter and additional sauce which did eventually arrive after further reminder. He too ordered the Dauphinoise Potatoes. It was comfort food after a cold windswept and rainy day.

     

    Two glasses of the house red wine, topped up for a third time from the 2017 Chianti Colli Senesi, Riserva, Bichi Borghesi, Tuscany, Italy which perfectly accompanied to our main courses.

     

    We didn’t order a starter nor a dessert. I did look at the puddings. Once again, they seemed rather fanciful. This didn’t feel like an establishment to linger in, although the staff were clearly extremely attentive and keen that we partake in a digestive before leaving.

     

    The rigmarole of finding my coat and umbrella in the cupboard was endured by me alone as my host decided to take air in the street and then walk me to my car. As I drove home, I thought: “Wouldn’t it be easier to be a member of a club?” At least I could hear myself think about it.

     

  • Chutney Mary Hits the Spot: A Delightful Dining Experience Reviewed by Ronel Lehmann

    Chutney Mary Hits the Spot: A Delightful Dining Experience Reviewed by Ronel Lehmann

    Chutney Mary Hits the Spot: A Delightful Dining Experience Reviewed by Ronel Lehmann
    By Ronel Lehmann

     

    I am always punctual. Imagine my surprise when arriving at Chutney Mary in St James’s Street ahead of my reservation, to see my Parliamentarian guest already seated and drinking a Mango Lassi.

    As I was led to the table at Chutney Mary, I could hear myself saying: “I did ask for a quiet table in the corner.” No matter, we were seated in the middle of a pandemic with a series of socially distanced diners. I felt that I had been here before and then realized this was the old Wheelers restaurant reincarnated. Leaving the oppressive summer heat outside, it was a quick adjustment to the refreshing cool and a dimly lit environment by which elbow greetings and pleasantries were exchanged.

    The waiter at Chutney Mary arrived bearing the drinks menu. I looked at the cold beers and didn’t recognize any of the usual Kingfisher and Cobra suspects. My guest prompted me to taste one, but after a moment’s reflection, I decided to wait until I had selected my food. Sparkling mineral water was poured.

    I did find the chairs at Chutney Mary particularly comfortable whilst we chatted away. After all, it had been nearly a year since we last conversed in person, and there was much to catch up on. The ambiance of the surroundings at Chutney Mary was peaceful, and you could hear yourself speak, something of which other notable eateries should take note. I suggested that we order. I always find that the moment you begin a deep and meaningful conversation, you immediately find yourself interrupted by attentive staff, to make gastronomic choices.

    To get some food quickly on the table, I requested a Tray of Papad, miniature Poppadoms, and Crudités to share. They arrived very promptly. It was a meal in itself, with tasty vegetables and an assortment of exquisite dipping flavors. We deliberated further about the menu at Chutney Mary. My guest selected a small plate of Afghani Chicken Tikka cooked with fennel, cardamom, mace, and mint.

    I elected for the Crispy Naan Salad, which had a chili oil dressing, paneer, gem lettuce, rocket, roast tomatoes, avocado, and asparagus. The salad rested on the Naan, which was divided into pizza slices. It was delicious but not the easiest dish to eat with cutlery, so I used my hands and endured finely chopped items falling from my palate onto the plate.

    Next up, we enjoyed the Lamb Shank Nellore, Welsh lamb dum cooked for six hours to achieve a smooth and intense taste. The Royal Rajput White Chicken Curry at Chutney Mary, which was spiced chicken thigh, cinnamon leaf, mathania chili, and melon seeds, was also a highlight. I hesitated to order the Goa Green Chicken Curry with herbs, green chili, and tamarind as my guest had ordered a separate bowl of hot green chilies as a side dish. He was eating hot raw chilies!

    At the same time, I was thinking about a few days ago when I cooked dinner and nearly blew my head off adding Scotch bonnet chilies to a dish, so you might say, I retired on this occasion from this latest experience. There were additional side orders of garlic Naan, basmati rice, and Green Peas with Paneer. We had requested another vegetable side dish, but the chef at Chutney Mary suggested the peas would make a suitable replacement.

    Back to drinks. My guest had a couple of American pale ale craft beers, made near Enfield. I didn’t fancy the German or Cornish lager and decided to order a glass of the Chateau Beaulieu Rose, Cuvee Alexandre, Provence, France 2019. It was served extremely cold and a perfect accompaniment to the main meal at Chutney Mary. I couldn’t, however, see the pale pink wine in the colorful surroundings.

    The dessert menus arrived. Persian Kulfi with saffron, pistachio, and rose chikki was quickly consumed by my guest, leaving me to enjoy Delicious Fresh Mango with vanilla bean ice cream. I am a great fan of the other Vanilla Tonka bean ice cream, but the latticework in the presentation of the mango really stole the show at Chutney Mary.

    I never grew up eating Indian cuisine, not at home, school, or university. It was only when, as a young man, a client introduced me to Tamarind in Queen Street, Mayfair. There, I found myself immersed in flavors and tastes. I had never experienced anything quite like it until that very moment. Every time that I have visited, it is like leaving a special place and reliving the original moment again and again, still able to savor extraordinary fragrant food hours later. It was magical and mesmerizing.

    It is a tough benchmark to measure by, and yet I can never not think back to that first meal and remember where I was, who I was with, and what I was eating.

    And so it is. Just because you might be a Saab driver doesn’t mean that you won’t drive another vehicle or allow yourself to be a backseat passenger in another car. It won’t stop you from thinking about what you like about sports mode, turbo thrust, and safety.

    It is the same with a favorite restaurant. Sometimes you have to venture outside somewhere different. Chutney Mary was a completely different and enjoyable experience. Outstanding food, beautifully served to boot. I just cannot be sure that my feet won’t try to walk me elsewhere.