Jamie's Italian, Covent Garden, London

I was in Central London on a hot day, walking around and just generally enjoying visiting the capital. I decided I needed a bite to eat, and being in Covent Garden area, there's a whole surfeit of options. I came across Jamie Oliver's Italian Kitchen and stopped by to scan the menu. Jamie's got his detractors, but I like his passion for food and his simple dishes with good ingredients. I like how he gets getting stuck in with both hands when cooking, with no messing around wit odd gadgets. His faux Cockney matiness along with his explanations to an unseen and unheard interviewer just off to the side of the camera were artifice. But they at least made him stand out from some of the more boring TV chefs in the 90's.

The menu reflected this attempt to be the every man. Words like 'great', 'tenner' and, I'm sure 'nosh' abounded in the columns of options. Simple line drawings broke up the text listing fresh ingredients and easy, breezy preparations. I went in. It seemed like a good idea. A bowl of pasta and a salad would give me some nutrients before I went to the pub for the third day straight.

Before I walked in, I had no idea this was a large chain that had taken off Britain. I assumed it was a lower budget version of his other offerings, with maybe one or two branches. I didn't know otherwise until I left and mentioned it to friends. But this is a big chain restaurant. There's a small patio area accessible via a set of sliding doors. Though in use, but not full, I wasn't offered a seat outside, and instead sent to sit against the wall of Jamie's books. Hundreds of copies of his recipe books adorned the shelves. I thought about taking one down to read but was worried I might splatter the pages with sauce, and have to buy a copy to lug back to Canada. My bag was heavy enough already.

There were a lot of white tiles on the rest of the walls, the parts visible behind the chalkboards advertising different specials - fish special, cocktail special and bruschetta special. One waiter served me tap water ('still or sparkling, sir?', 'Thames, please'), then disappeared for the rest of the service after taking my order. A different waiter brought the pasta, and a third brought the bruschetta. A fourth brought the bill and a fifth took my money. A sixth and seventh were hanging at the front desk. No-one came by to check if the food was okay. All the guys had groomed beards and tired back ponytails. They had posh accents and pressed trousers and shiny shoes. Like there was a special clone factory for them somewhere in Leicester Square.

The pasta I ordered was the Rigatoni Pomodoro. It promised a sweet tomato sauce with garlic, basil, hard cheese, mascarpone and herby breadcrumbs. I think Jamie must have run out of breadcrumbs. There was none in the sauce. The pasta was mostly a solid al dente... the first bite was underdone, but the rest just fine. The sauce was disappointing. I've done better with a can of tomatoes, an onion and a lump of butter. The basil was scattered on top, not flavouring the food. The creaminess of the cheese lost in the sauce. The sauce that hinted of rich ripe tomatoes, the way a casino hints of winning millions. You hope for it. You see how it might happen. But you don't get it. It just was not worth it the price (6.25 Pounds or $12 Canadian for a small portion), rather than being an abject failure. I expected more from Jamie.

The bruschetta was a different story. A spring vegetable creation, it piled curls of courgette (zucchini in Canada, but I'm in London, so it's courgette) on a minty, bashed pea and creamy cheese base. The idea of freshness and growing vitality came through in the dish, and met the promise of the chalkboard special description. There was a zest and a bite to the flavours. The texture of the peas offset the cloyingness of the cheese. The courgettes added some heft to the dish and gave up their flavours to a bright olive oil dressing. The bread base was a little thin, and a little small, but that's a quibble. If the pasta had been as good as this, I'd have no complaints.

But as it is, Jamie's Italian Kitchen is just another eatery. It's farming out a brand of food that's priced over its value, playing off on the celebrity name. Plus, I am not sure I can forgive being forced to listen to terrible 80's music while I dined.

Saffron, Innerleithen, Scotland

Innerleithen is a quiet town, about an hour's drive south of Edinburgh, in Scotland.  It is in the Tweed Valley, and the centre of a downhill bikers paradise.  It is also home to my Mum.  So I'm here on vacation, and recently met up with a few friends from Canada as well.  Every time I've been over in the last few years, we've had take out (take away in British parlance) curry from Saffron. But I've never eaten inside the restaurant. Until this trip.

Saffron is a very small restaurant, with maybe sixteen covers, lodged in the middle of Innerleithen High Street.  It does a brisk trade in food going out for delivery or pick up. On this Friday night, every table was full, and there were people due in straight after our seating as well.  It's busy.  It should be as it has a good reputation in the area.  The space itself is not your traditional British curry house. No red flock wall paper, no ornate backed, ruby-red cushioned seats. No Indian music played loudly in the back ground.  It's modern feel, with grey stone bricks along one wall, pine seats and broad wooden tables.  Those are covered with paper table cloths, as curry stains like hell.

We sat down to examine the options, deciding to get dishes to share around and try a little of everything. The menus are on waxed cloth scrolls, rolled up into napkin holders.  It's a comprehensive menu, but not excessive.  There's a dozen or so standard curry styles available with a variety of meats or vegetarian style. There is another dozen house specials, split between Chef's specials, Tandoori specials and the Chef's Mojadar.  I don't know what Mojadar means, and the internet is failing to tell me.  But this is where that most ubiquitous of curry resides, Butter Chicken.  Listed here as Murgh Makani, the 'butter chicken' is just a subtitle.

I don't like butter chicken. I like chicken, I like butter and I like curry.  Butter Chicken seems to take all three elements and combine them into a soul-less, bland mash of vaguely spicy lumps of soft, mushy protein lumps in a unctuous, bland sauce.  It is Indian food made for foreigners to be safer and creamier.  And often cooked in mass produced vats at places doing it for the 'Indian special'.   For me, it's to Indian food what Salisbury Steak is to prime rib.  However, I know many people love it, and rate places solely on their ability to make a tasty Butter Chicken dish. Like my love of Biryani, it's their go to dish.

And we had a dish of it served here, and my opinion has changed.  This was still butter chicken... creamy and with a very mild heat. But there was a tasty spiciness to it, that was interesting and complex.  The chicken was tender, not soft. It soaked up the sauce onto its surface, but left the insides white and tasting of poultry.  They say they can make it extra spicy here too, and if it weren't for the fact almost every other dish I have had here was as good, I'd be tempted to order hot on my next visit to Mum.

Instead, I'd probably go for a lamb dish on my next vacation in Scotland.  My sharing choice was the Lamb Karahi.  I like lamb, but it's very expensive in Canada, and not always cooked to well.  Here the chunks of meats had a savoury taste, with just enough fat to give that butter like mouth feel. It tasted like lamb.   In the Karahi it embezzled the fenugreek and ginger flavours, with a pleasant medium heat.  The sort that makes my mouth tingle, but not my forehead sweat. There was plenty of vegetables in the sauce too, to give variety and other flavours and textures.

Mum ordered the Lamb Dupazia for us all, and again the meat was cooked to perfection, a feature of all the curries here.  The onions added a little sweet-sour taste to the dish, balanced with a mild, warming heat from the spice.  There was also a portion of the Saag Chicken, a dish cooked with plenty of greens.  This was excellent, with the spinach adding interest into the curry sauce.

The Tandoori chicken was a large portion, which came out sizzling on a iron platter, crispy and an intense ruby red from the rub applied to it. The leg part was tender and juicy, and well received by the person who ordered it.  My sampling of the breast was not as good.  Great flavour, but the meat was dry on this section, and a needed a little lubrication from a sauce. Or the pint of Cobra Lager I was drinking.

On the sides, we had a citrus-y and sharp lemon rice, beloved of my mother, and voted up by the rest of the table.  The flavour cut through any grease left over from the curry.  Not there was much at all. Often meat curry comes swimming in ghee.  Not a sign of the orangey-red oil slick from some places.  The pilau rice was also excellent, subtly flavouring the delicate basmati grain. We also shared garlic and plain naans.  These were big, pillowy and fluffy flat breads.  Perfect for mopping up all the left over gravy from the dishes.  The boiled rice was boiled rice.  I can't wax on about it really very well. It was white?

One of our group isn't a spiced food fan, so ordered the chips and chicken omelette.  He liked it well enough, but did mention there was a slight spiced flavour to it, which he expected as it's made in the same kitchen as all this wonderfully flavourful food.  No complaints there.

We left with full bellies and warm hearts. One miss step on our part... we didn't get out in time to get ice cream dessert from Caldwell's.  It's a newsagents that makes it's own ice cream in about twenty different flavours.  It closes at 7.30, so my tip is to finish your meal in time to get your sweet tooth fed before then, and amble happily home.  We did pick up ice creams on the way out of the town the next morning.  A gingerbread ice cream cone is the road fuel of champions.

So long, Innerleithen!

Part and Parcel, Quadra Street Village, Victoria

A good week.  I am off on vacation right now (so you can expect reviews of places outside Victoria), and when I comeback, I'll be in full swing on my own start up, Enigmatic Events.  This may mean less dining out, or at possibly more taking advantage of early bird, happy hour deals.  But before all that, I promised the lovely Brunette of my Acquaintance a meal out before she drove me to catch a flight to Scotland.  Asking for recommendations, Rayna@QuenchWines mentioned both Hanks BBQ and Part and Parcel.

I love Hanks.  But I love new as well.

So we trooped off to get their at opening time. We were fourth in line, just behind local radio celebrity Pol Plastino.  At 11.30am, and there's a line up, sounds good.  Inside, it's a very simple layout, with a couple of booths, some high tables and bench seating along one wall.  You can see into the kitchen beyond the wooden serving counter, above which are listed the dozen or so options.  They'll hand you list with more details on, but they basically had me at 'fried chicken sandwich'.  

We took our menus back to a booth, slid in and read the details.  The fried Kamut Chicken came with bread and butter, bacon and pickles.  There was a raw albacore tuna sandwich.  Two great looking salads, one boasting rhubarb and chamomile.  The 'etc' section led off with falafel and hummus, but the beef tongue tartine with a cabbage and peanut slaw almost defeated my lust for chicken.  There's a lot of North African influences across the menu.  Whether that was the mood of the kitchen on the day, or a more general twist on the food, I don't know.  

We did quiz the lady taking orders on the providence of the meat, as the Brunette will only eat chicken raised carefully and not fed with hormones and pieces of gruel. No hens that have been sent to work for fifteen hours down the nearest coal mine.  Her poultry must have rested on silk lined cages, been cosseted and told what clever chooks they are.  The report from the kitchen was all clear, with a couple of central BC farms named as the source of both pig and poultry. So we both got the chicken sandwich with a side of 'ras el hanout' french fries to share.

We got a large rectangular bun stuffed with a crisp fillet, with a slice of bacon on top and a big pile of pickled cabbage.  The bun is sliced in two, just the right size to pick up and take a big fat bite.  I asked the Brunette to take a moment for the reverence this first taste deserved.  The chicken was juicy, full of flavour and with a firm crunch  on the outside.  The bun was soft yet firm, and the pickles crispy, tangy and offset the oiliness of the meat.  Kamut is a type of grain, a fact I just looked up.  This must have been used in the crispy breading on the chicken.  I asked for a second moment of reverence.  We ate for a while in silence.

The fries were well cooked, crispy enough on outsides, with the soft, fluffy potato pile inside you want. The spices on them were fine, but not to my taste. Too much cumin and cardamom. Flavours I like in general, but not on my fries, it seems. The 'ras el hanout' is a mix of spices used in Moroccan cooking (also looked that up just now), as a general flavour-all for the meat.  Don't get me wrong, I like how it was cooked, the mixing up of flavours and traditions.  It just wasn't for my taste buds. Because not every thing can be.

So, a very pleasant meal, in the corner of a very busy spot.  The cafe-style ordering at counter, and also setting up your own placements works well here.  It is fast-ish food, not long dining.  Get in, eat, enjoy and then leave.  The toilets were impeccably clean.  A sign that the kitchen will be too. They were also kitted out with some art and crafts, and I think I recall some fresh flowers.  I can also report, in the four days since I left Canada, the Brunette has been back once already, and plans another trip before eight days of my absence.  This is high praise.

So, thanks for the recommendation Rayna, I suspect I'll be back again... and again... and again.

Messob Ethopian Cuisine, Cook Street Village

Two weekends ago, the Brunette and I decided to visit some parts of the Fairfield Artist's Tour.  This was a group of artists who'd opened their homes or studios (in most cases, this is the same location) to the public, to display their work, and maybe sell some original works, or prints of the same.

Thanks to my relatives in the UK, I had some money to buy some art for my 40th birthday, so this was a good way of seeing a lot of different styles in a day.  We wandered the Cook Street Village end of the tour at first and found a wide variety of styles. Realistic, abstract, impressionistic.  Charcoal sketches, photographs of temporary ink blots, smears of oil paints on wood and rain speckled images of Vancouver.

Walking is hard work, so we then (eventually) found the Cook Street Food Court.  I say eventually, as I was convinced it was on a certain road near the Beagle.  While the Brunette was convinced I was talking rubbish.  The Brunette was right. It was a block away, right behind the car park I was convinced was a totally different food court. I suspect she'll frame this review as her own piece of valued work.

Inside the court, there's a Sushi bar, a Mexican place, and Messob.  I've had some Ethiopian food in London before and eaten here a few years ago.  I know it's a bit different, and remember it being tasty different, so this was the choice.  The Brunette went for the Vegetarian platter while I ordered the meat dish... the chicken wat special not yet being ready.

Ethiopian foods two most distinctive features are the flat, thin ferment bread called injera.  This is a sour, sponge-like bread used to pick up chunks of the stews.  The other feature, at least from what I recalled in London, was a spicy, dry heat to all the food.  I also recall almost choking of sheep bone in the stew once, but that's a different story.

The food at Messob is not as spicy as the 'style' says but has a warmth of flavour to it. The cooks may have toned it down for the west coasters, or that might just be how they like to prepare the food. The various vegetable stews weren't particularly distinguishable but were a thick, blended consistency, and there was plenty of it. There was a good tender cooked greens on the plate as well. The beef stew was tender, small chunks of meat in a savoury sauce.  I enjoyed soaking up large pools of the stew in the bread, the juices soaking into the big holes in the dough.  

The meal was served by two friendly chefs, who were prepping up for the rest of the day when we arrived.  The court itself has a large outdoor patio, but we wanted out of the sun and sat at a pair of hard plastic tables, stuck in a small alcove between Messob and the sushi bar.  For the price, this is a great meal spot.



After being fuelled up, we carried on our tour, walking further down Fairfield, visiting other artists.  I eventually decided that the 'Fox and his Kettle' (by Victor Bosson) was the picture I wanted.  I returned the next day to pick up a print of this goofy looking, Japanese kitsune, carrying his kettle.  I have no idea why he is running around with a kettle and a big lantern. I could read the picture book that the image goes with, but I love not knowing something I could go and look up, and just making it up in my head each time.

The Brunette also found something she loved back at the first place we visited... so it was a success all around, and a good day out... more laid back than the Moss Street paint in, and easier to see all the art, and get some time with the artists.

The Fireside Grill, Royal Oak

There comes a time when one has to rehash old reviews. Five years ago, I visited the Fireside Grill with colleagues from my old job for a pub-style lunch. It seems I expected to be taken there for fireside chats and conversations about my career. I left that job about five months later with no more visits to the Grill. It also seems that I didn't like the fish and chips I was served but also didn't have the balls to take it up with the server. I recall a conversation with the owner of Solomon's(*) and a friend about how I dealt with it. I resolved afterwards to speak up when I didn't like a meal, so the team can fix problems.  Though some meals are beyond fixing.

Five years on, and I am back at the Fireside Grill, with work colleagues, in a job I've been at for a while. I've been there a few times since for lunch in the main dining room and had good food. For full disclosure, I play softball with one of the sous chefs and have played fantasy football with the owner.

The building was created in 1930's as a tea room and dance hall for Victoria. Opening in May 1939, it was soon sold as a home and gallery space to the Maltwoods, who used the large space for their sculpture collection in the 'Thatch'. War rationing had made it hard to run any sort of fancy place. From their, the building was gifted to the University of Victoria in the 70's.  The gallery pieces moved in with the main collection in the late 70's.  Most of the collection is now part of the McPherson Library, or the downtown Legacy Art Gallery. The building got transferred back to Saanich's hands and then sold to a private owner in 1999.  They opened the Fireside Grill in 2000.

Now, the mock Tudor 'cottage' style building has plenty of space for small and large groups. Our booking of eighteen had caused them to set up a big long table for all of us, right in the middle of the cavernous main dining room. There would have been room for six more tables that sized, with room to spare for a few families. And a few more outside on the wind shielded, heated patio. The patio has nice vista across a path of rolling fields and onto towards Victoria, backdropped with the Olympic mountains across the strait.  It would have been a great view in the 30's before the highways and Royal Oak got built up.  Here's an old time photo from the Saanich Archives from the nearby Rithet's sheep farm for a tiny idea.

The main room has high, timbered ceilings, a brick farmhouse, and a strange rustic looking interior balcony filled with wine. The balcony has a little crane on it, so but no other visible way up there. I assume the sommelier has to get a step ladder up there, then uses the crane to lift up boxes of wine. Must be kind of awkward to get down the 1974 vintage claret during a busy service.  And if you get seated up there, the service will be slow... but you can at least access the finest wines quickly.

The room is managed by a troop of smart servers. All seemed to be wearing a white shirt, black trouser/skirt combination. All seemed to know exactly where they were going, and what was happening at eash table. There was no "Who ordered the fish tacos? Fish tacos? Whose are these fish tacos?". You know the drill, someone has ordered the fish tacos. Three-quarters of the table know it's Gord, but Gord's too busy extolling the virtues of his brand new cell phone to Cindy to listen out for his order. Not a problem in this case. Gord and Cindy and the rest of us ill get the plate delivered hot from the kitchen to the right seat. Done and done.  Water is kept topped up. Bread is served fresh, wrapped up in a white napkin.  All those little details just done smoothly with no pretensions.

The Fireside does a great $13 lunch menu which, from my experience, is good value. For thirteen bucks I had the Crispy Butter Chicken, for example. This was tender chicken, served with a rich, gently spiced sauce and served with a crisp half-moon of poppadum. I'm not a butter chicken fan at all, but this combined the flavours well to make a dish that wasn't just 'light curry', but had an assertive flavour that worked with the meat, and with vegetables in the sauce. Also on the special menu is candied salmon pizza, made with creme Fraiche and sun-dried tomatoes. A thin crust based with a crunch, combined with the sweeter flavours of the fish and sauce blend well with the tomatoes to create a summery pizza that isn't a heavy cheese ball of goo. Eat it outside. With a crisp lager beer if you can.

The head chef, Morgan Milward, has won a trophy at the local 'Colour Your Palate' competition six times out of the eight runnings. This shows a consistency of making good food that works on both looks, aromas and taste. And it has shown every time I have eaten here since that first less-than-good fish and chips basket. I've not yet been tempted to go for dinner or the Sunday Buffet Brunch. Reports I've heard is the latter is a big favourite on Mother's Day.  My timing is impeccable to tell you about it afterwards. At $28, it has to be to keep going. The tip I was told was to go for the Dine Around meal next year, as it's a really good showcase of the kitchen.

So you have a place with a varied history, doing good food with imagination, and a great standard of service.  And I've not been paid to say that.





(*) Solomon's is no more and hasn't been for a long while. But like George Orwell has 'The Moon Under Water', I have Solomon's. It remains, despite its drawbacks, is the closest to my imagination of the ideal bar.