Roast

Borough Market, SE1
Apparently, there’s a rumour going round that Borough Market is THE place to go for a bit of food love. Apparently, there’s stall upon stall of organic, fresh, free range, wild, and home-reared yumminess just cluttering up the place. There’s also a rumour going round that the restaurant, Roast, serves roasts. Well, who would’ve guessed?!

Places like Roast are Kryptonite to us critics. This is the kind of restaurant we usually try to avoid because our job is to lambast, shake fists and generally poke fun at lesser establishments that will probably not make it through the other side of the recession. Usually, there’s a catalogue of errors to laugh about, leaving no doubt in the mind of the reader that under no circumstances should they visit. Even if they’re drunk and it’s on the way home.

But with Roast, it’s a different story. It’s faultless. They only offer one dish and that’s roast joy, sprinkled with grated dreams and served on a bed of Ahhhhhhhhhhh. No, make that Ahhhhhhhhh to the power of Ahhhhhhhh.

This roast joy comes in a variety of shapes and sizes. There’s the modern decor which is as bright an over-achieving child and amplified by a beautiful portico that was abandoned by Covent Garden’s Floral Hall many years ago and brought to the market for only a quid.

Then there’s the unclenched weekend clientele who are far removed from the hubris of boorish City-dom during the working week. Roast is suitably for doe-eyed couples, sloshed-up birthday groups, girlie natter-thons and lazy families alike.

There’s also the view-of-St-Paul’s location, voyeuristically high above the throng of market activity, causing dinner conversations to veer wildly off into “Wow, look at the state of THAT nutter down there” every few sentences.

Added to that, there’s the high-ceiling’d, live jazz’d and child-friendly’d atmosphere keeping no track of time and generally maintaining everyone in a floating daze, welcomingly.

There’s the impeccable service which appears to be sickeningly 5-star, whichever angle you’re viewing it from.

There’s the booze which boasts a mighty tome of heaven’s treacle to devour, including the inescapable Chapel Down Bacchus Reserve (made in Kent, no less) which would probably cleanse and rejuvenate your urban weary skin if you decided to pour it over your face rather than do the sensible thing and drink it.

And then, of course, there’s the grub. Oh, the tender grub. The tender British grub. The tender British grub that is not afraid to roast any living being (if you arrive on a Monday, you can sample from the special ‘rare and native breed’ menu - Dodo? Diplidocus?). All ingredients are GB sourced, and most come directly from the market right downstairs. Starters are under strict portion control - the potted kippers are a good place to start - thus leaving room for the generous main event - the slow roasted goose leg with firm kale and adequately sized roast potatoes are complimented perfectly by the boozed-up poached pears (“Oh you do look lovely”, “Oh, that’s very kind of you to say so.”). Dessert is daring and is only avoidable if you’re able to avert your eyes as tempting glasses of rhubarb trifle or sultry Bakewell tarts are delivered to neighbouring tables.

It’s also got a cocktail bar, it’s own lift, Dyson Airblades to play with, windows as far as the eye can see, a great selection of British beers, a menu that is a bit dithering because it changes every week, and an owner who, in 2008, won Businessman of the Year and Restaurant Personality of the Year, plus claimed a spot in the Independent on Sunday’s Top 10 Restaurateurs in Britain list.

OK, OK, OK. Roast is amazing. There, I said it. Are you happy now?!

Molton House

43 South Molton Street, Mayfair W1
“The theatre is a gross art, built in sweeps and over-emphasis.”

At times like this it’s appropriate to break the glass and release an emergency quote. When the British author and playwright, Enid Bagnold, uttered the above phrase in fourteen hundred and whatever she probably didn’t have a West End socialite hangout in mind. Yet, with words like ‘gross art’, ‘sweeps’ and ‘over-emphasis’ she could’ve been describing the new members clubs, Molton House. It’s absolute design mayhem.

From the outside Molton House does a fairly good job of pretending it’s not an exhibitionist - small signage, tiny red rope, zero windows - but once (and if) you get inside, then the theatre really begins. It’s of no surprise that the biggest poser of them all, the peacock, has been adopted as the Molton House emblem.

The bite of ostentation smothers four homely floors of this Georgian building. The designers were clearly dealing with some acutely indecisive clients and, in the end, just threw together everything that B&Q could muster. Copper cladding, snakeskin, silk, peacock feathers (there it is again), leather corsets, ostrich feathers, flickering colours, darkened mirrors, scarlet hues, low lighting, gargantuan chandeliers: there was probably no other colour, material or fabric sold anywhere else in the world that day because it seems Molton House bought it all. The attention to detail even goes as far as putting sparkles INSIDE the toilet extraction fans.

The club - with house/electro/rock/but-no-RnB blaring out of the Funktion 1 sound system - leads to the cocktail bar - with its own DJ hidden in a cupboard under the stairs playing so-laid-back-it-could-be-a-spa music - which leads to the restaurant - serving what else but ‘modern European cuisine’ - which leads to the private dining/conference rooms - replete with their very own TV, wifi, stereo system, weather patterns, astrological calendar....

The drinks here are just shy of heavenly and you should feel free to say ‘Wow’ as often as you like. The specialists on the tricky side of the bar have put together a menu that is supper club flamboyant and in keeping with the venue’s decor. Classics, punches, cups, sours, flips, ‘temperance’ options, and a clever range of bitters - coriander, jasmine tea, vanilla, liquorice - created by a local hotel chef. Plus, each drink has its own receptacle, some which require flavour infusion before the drink has even been made.

Tip 1: wait for the ‘ample’ table service.
Tip 2: Do NOT ask for a Mojito. You wouldn’t ask Gordon Ramsey to cook you cheese on toast now would ya?!
Some of the highlights include the Cherry Blossom Bellini - or ‘Go-Getter’ as we’ll call it for its powers of easy drinking; the Liquorice Sazerac - the ‘Sock Blower’ for the strong buzzy feeling that arrives direct by absinthe; the signature A&A’s Negroni - a gin-based ‘Ladies Night’; the Molton Mule - ‘Summer time’ served in a twisted glass, heavy on the pineapple, strong on ginger, garnished with an odd lime dispatch; and the Don Flip - the ‘Nightcap’, a tequila and port-based end to the evening. Need to freshen up? Try a £5 latte before you go (cue Pulp Fiction style conversations about “finding out what a five pound latte tastes like”).

The people? Molton House is in the upper echelons, apparently. The membership committee contains within its serried ranks one Sex Pistol, one Queen, TWO Duran Durans, one Channel 4er, one messy bed artist, one former Mrs Law, one Kidd, one Kemp, one Cold Feet, one Blur, one Libertine, and one Imbruglia, to name but a few. Basically, you’ll need to iron a shirt. And brush your shoes.

Nick ‘Cuckoo Club’ Valentine teamed up with a former Movida GM, a former Sketch mixologist and a former Devonshire Gardens chef and created this multi-layered cake of decadence. The result is tastefully tacky and wins the 2009 Elton John Prize for Garishness hands down. But is the décor trying to over compensate for something that’s lacking? The jury is still out on that one.

The Fenitman Arms

64, Fentiman Rd SW8 1LA
Geronimo Inns: the gastro overlords of London. You don’t want to mess with them. Their gang of pubs are lurking everywhere, especially in the more decent and self-respecting communities of the capital. Easy pickings, see. They have venues stationed all over London on deserted street corners, ready to supply any unsuspecting passer-by with a quick hit of verve, sparkle or finesse. And the Fentiman Arms is one of its top henchmen.

Now clearly, there’s nothing illegal about the Fentiman Arms (that was just a metaphor), not unless it’s now against the law to make every man, woman and child who is pulled in by its force field a complete and utter satisfied customer. This is benevolent not malevolent brawn and it’s only a six hit over the boundary from The Oval’s middle stump; as long as Kevin Pietersen is batting.

The Fentiman hides its stoicism well. There you are, minding your own business, cluelessly wandering along Fentiman Street, not a care in the world, generally marveling at the quaintness of it all, when suddenly.....BAM, you’re sucked in by an overpowering lure of niceness. This ‘Arm’ of the ever-growing Geronimo empire is particularly muscular and it hides a stocky robustness within its tidy physique. Remember, the small ones are often the ones to watch out for. They pack an almighty delicious punch.

There’s classic Geronimo behaviour to be seen here. Firstly, the general managers; they must breed them at Geronimo HQ because although they all look very different, they share the common traits of extreme conviviality and a willingness to exploit the potentiality of their venue for the benefit of everyone else in the world (laurels are certainly not for resting on). Secondly, open shelves; they love em: the exclusive/inclusive expanse/cosiness they lend is peculiarly familiar throughout. Thirdly, the wine; a Master of Wine (no less) has selected a decent array straight from God’s own cellar, which includes the continually rewarding Infamous Goose Wild Rock Sauvignon from New Zealand.

You start this compartmentalised box of fun in what appears to be someone’s living room, complete with mid-battle board games and roaring open fire. It’s as though you’ve wandered in by mistake like Little Red Riding Hood and thus proceed to sit yourself down and help yourself to somebody else’s food, you teef! Only, it IS your food. The small, nee tiny, dining area at the rear separates you from the bar so as to not make it feel as though you’re eating under someone’s pint of Guinness.

Other fantastic appendages to the Fentiman’s arsenal: the garden, where picnic benches are painted with sunshine and where a full scale summer BBQ is guaranteed to break out at least three times a week; a versatile retro function room upstairs with private bar, loo and big TV where comedy, quiz or carve-your-own roast nights are available if you ask nicely; plus, benches out front for smokers and a menu that is dramatically tweaked weekly, meaning you dining habits will be somewhat on a par with your weekly dose of Lost.

Tip No.1: Yes, the standard menu is great and you wont be disappointed BUT there is a daily specials menu and they don’t call it ‘special’ for nothing. For example, the pork cheek, lentil and chorizo stew with buttered mash is both large and luscious.

Tip No.2: Opt for any starter that involves an ex-fish. Mackerel pate, smoked salmon.....No particular reason, it’s basically a flipping good way to start your meal.

Although it would appear that this establishment is mainly used by locals, it’s definitely a destination for all. If you reside anywhere south of, say, Derby, north of Bruge, west of Narnia and east of the Moon, you’ve really got no excuse for not visiting (this includes exams, weddings and personal injuries such as death).