Kikuchi, 14 Hanway Street, W1

Now, I think it is safe to say that in London, excellent sushi is nearly impossible to find. It took us 2 years of looking and when we found Kikuchi, it was as if we were being rewarded for all the bad, overpriced, over-slick places we endured before.

Like junkies, there was a time when Mr. E.P. and I would go to Kikuchi nearly every week but as it is an expensive habit (even with the discount cards they give out with the bill), we curtailed it for a bit.

I found this review in the Guardian: http://www.guardian.co.uk/lifeandstyle/2009/jan/18/jay-rayner-kikuchi-restaurant-review-sushi

and it is so right on that there's nothing more for me to say on the subject except that the waitress aren't all sweet - they're mostly pretty brusque (boarding on rude) and since the renovation in January, it's a little to slick looking (I actually miss the threadbare carpet, terrifying women's room, and temperamental heating and air conditioning). So, while the food is still amazing, the atmosphere has become very generic (except for the waitress and their ever-present scowls).

Bob Bob Ricard, 1 Upper James Street, W1

Now, I know that I haven't been here in quite awhile and it hasn't been for a lack of going out or even of finding some really great restaurants. I've just been a tad preoccupied with other things but after having dined at Bob Bob Ricard two Friday's in a row, I realized that it would be unfair not to write about it.

Bob Bob Ricard is over the top. From the dark and clashing wallpapers and the mirrors on the ceiling to the... wait for it!... Champagne Call Button At Every Table. The menu is a mix of classic Russian dishes served alongside a balance of American and European.

The first Friday, Mr. E.P. and I went to BBR, we ordered the cured Russian herring (very soft and fresh tasting), the jellied ox tongue (seriously amazing and stunning to look at - I could write pages on the the aspic alone), and the quails eggs mayonnaise with anchovies (a bit of a blah) with an accompanying glass of the Kauffman Collection vodka (very flavorful without the burn of some lesser vodkas). Mr. E.P. announced that if everything on the menu were as lovely as the zakuskis, he would have to request a standing table.

Happily our entrees were as lovely. Mr. E.P. had the veal holstein with quails egg, anchovy, and truffled mash potato. The veal was a nice, thick slice with a crunchy breading that didn't overpower the meat. It too would have benefitted from more anchovies and Mr. E.P. said that when he orders it again, he will ask more extra. I had the meat pelmeni. They were a little bland as they were simply boiled (a quick sear in a hot skillet would have done the trick) but the flavor was there and the addition of the white vinegar on the side made them really stand out. A side of wilted spinach (without the nutmeg) was literally the best spinach I have ever eaten - I think they might blanch the spinach in a very concentrated vegetable stock.

And now, let's talk about the wine list as a happy segue into last night's repast. The markups are minimal and the wine list is fantastic. The first night, we had a bottle of white Chateauneuf du Pape, Domaine du Vieux Telegraphe which we had last had at lunch in Chateauneuf du Pape and it was wonderful (especially at 62GBP!) and last night, we...

Oh, see? Now I'm getting ahead of myself! Last night, I arrived early (no traffic for once!) and thought I would pop to the downstairs bar for a drink while I waited for Mr. E.P. Alas, the downstairs bar was full and I was directed upstairs.

I ordered a slightly wet martini with Kauffman's vodka and olives. The barman took note of "olives" plural and asked if that was what I meant. Yes, indeed, I assured him (I love drinks with snacks). When it came (17GBP later!) it was a tiny little thing in a frozen glass (that dripped ice water into my lap) and tasted entirely of vermouth. I flagged down an available barman and asked him to remix the drink adding more vodka. Not a problem, done with a smile and then checked back with me to see how it was. Perfect. Unfortunately, the original barman (now at the other end of the bar) nearly shouted, "You said you wanted it wet!" Seriously? That's not called for.

Anyway, a bottle of Condrieu and the carpaccio of tuna nicoise starter were revelatory. The tuna came in one large,perfectly rosey piece and had a texture that made me wonder if it had been cooked sous vide. Then came the entrees. Mr. E.P. had the pork belly which was very thin, crisp on top, and seasoned with Chinese 5-spice. Unfortunately the seasoning didn't really work that well (at least not for me) and there was a suspicious film of skin that actually had the consistency of fish skin. However, the bacon cheeseburger I ordered was fantastic! Cooked exactly as requested and charred beautifully on the outside, it came with pickles, crisp, iceberg lettuce and a slice of red onion. The one jarring thing about it was the choice of cheddar or... again, wait for it!... a slice of Kraft, yellow American cheese. I didn't know Kraft yellow American was even available in this country let alone that a place like BBR would use it. In fact, I think the last time I had a slice of the stuff, I was 12. But, out of curiosity, I had it last night and man-oh-day, it was tasty! And as usual, the spinach was divine as was the side of broccoli.

So, yes, it looks like we're going to have to get that standing table soon, although, this coming Friday, we have a reservation at Gauthier Soho, which I am very excited about.

The Punch Bowl, 41 Farm Street, W1

Every Thursday, the girls and I meet for lunch at a different pub. At least that's what we do in theory. We have only three criterion for choosing where we go: 1. that the pub is dog-friendly; 2. that the pub has better than average pub food and; 3. that it's easy to get to from Bayswater, Kensington, & Shoreditch. The Punch Bowl fits all three.

Like I said, the theory is that we do a new pub each week however, this week we were at a loss for ideas especially since the weather wasn't very nice. I threw out my list of suggestions which included The Punch Bowl, where we had actually already visited during the height of the London Office Christmas Party Season. That time, the hound and I were the first to arrive and found the place was packed with men in suits weaving from bar to table so the hound and I got a pint of beer and decided to wait outside for the girls thinking we would try someplace else once everyone arrived. S got there next and unlike me, was undeterred by the crowd. B followed and also decided that it might be possible to make a go of it. So, in the four of us went to wait at the bar to table-stalk. Happily, every single person in the bar turned out to be huge fans of the hound and we were offered a table to share with two other men. The hound curled up on the stone floor and went to sleep while we perused the menu.

There are a number of reasons to want to check out The Punch Bowl. Guy Richey is the owner and allegedly shows his mug there on occasion. But the reason for me was the description of their burger - a beef burger with bacon, cheddar cheese and truffle mayonnaise (I believe I've mentioned before that I will do just about anything for truffled anything). The sesame bun was too big and too crusty (just this side of stale, actually) for the little bitty burger but it was cooked perfectly and tasted like actual beef. It was also, refreshingly, hand-shaped which is something I find comfort in. The bacon wasn't too underdone as is often the case in London and the cheese was nicely melted. It was, of course, the mayonnaise that made it. S had the line-caught sea bass which wasn't on the menu and she pronounced it "delicious" which is high praise indeed from S. It was a whole fillet, flaky and white fleshed and I seem to recall that they offered to bone it for her. B had the scallops and honestly, I remember very little about them other than they were golden on top and plump and there were very few of them. They could have come with some sort of pesto and I think maybe rocket? Anyway, B said they were divine. All in all, I thought it was a very good pub and decided that if I did come back, I would expand my horizons. With very many glasses of wine and pints of beer, our bill came to 70GBP.

Just after New Year's, Mr. E.P. and I were walking around Mayfair and I suggested we pop in for a drink. Strangely, although he'd grown up not two blocks from Farm Street, he had never walked that road and had no idea that the pub was there. When we walked in, we were one of two other couples sitting in the bar. Mr. E.P. looked around and said, yes, the space is very pretty but he felt that it looked a bit twee and overly-shabby chic. A quick look at the menu made me salivate - a homemade fish pie was just what the doctor ordered but sadly, we stayed for only our drinks and then went off to run some errands.

This past Thursday, the hound and I again were first to arrive and we quickly found a table and a pint while we waited. At ten minutes to one, there were plenty of tables available and mail arriving and boxes being put away. At ten minutes after one, the back dining room was packed and after eyeing the bar area, people started giving the hound and me dirty looks that we would take such a big table for just the two of us. Happily, B arrived shortly after. Still, the two of us and a dog did draw some resentful stares and then came the phone call. "I'm running late. Just leaving Shoreditch now. I'll get there as soon as I can," said S. B and I put our heads together in intense conversation to avoid the accusatory looks.

We looked at the menu and when S sailed in, she dropped her coat on a stool and offered to order for us. I looked for the burger as nothing else really appealed but it was gone! Replaced by a veal burger. I said I would like that as memories of our summer in Provence flooded back and I could practically smell the veal burgers we made on the grill. I had taken only a cursory glance at the description but my decision was sealed. "It comes with fois gras," S said. Nothing could have made me happier; not even truffles.

"I ordered the same as you but I asked for mine medium-rare. Do you think I'll be happy? Should I change it?" S asked when she came back to the table. "How did you order mine?" I asked in a panic. My steaks, I love medium-rare. I've been known to eat steak tartare three times in one day in Paris. But my burgers, my burgers must be cooked through. Not well-done but a true medium which is why I usually order them medium-well just as a safety measure. I don't like bits of undercooked mince. The server told us that they come medium and reassured S that she would be happy with medium-rare.

Finally, B's pumpkin gnocchi and our veal burgers arrived. The gnocchi were again, few (B ordered the large portion) and the plate was overly decorated with bits of pumpkin and swirls and splatters of green and orange sauces. B said she would order it again, but in addition to something else - they are a bit stingy on their portions at TPB. When S's and my veal burgers arrived, the server informed us that S had indeed gotten the medium-rare one. We each cut ours in half to better manipulate and lo, S got the medium and I the pink one. Let's switch! I suggested but no, S liked the medium one better. Drats. In the end it didn't matter. That was far and away, the best, juiciest, most flavorful burger I've ever eaten in my entire life. The bun had been changed to something soft and light yet robust enough to handle the juices. The fois gras was fresh and creamy and melted nicely over the entire burger. Even the condiments of sliced dill pickles, red onion, lettuce and (an anemic) tomato didn't overshadow the flavor of the veal or the fois gras but somehow brought them out. All in all, it is the burger that dreams are made of. It is the burger that all burgers, forevermore will be compared to. It is the burger version of Rebecca to the second Mrs. de Winter but unlike Rebecca, it is flawless... even when still pink. And again with many glasses of wine and a pints of beer, our check this time came to 80GBP.

Crazy Homies, 125 Westbourne Park Road, W2

Crazy Homies is the place to go in London for burrito's as big as your head.  Well, that's not exactly true.  They are in fact considerably smaller than one's head but still, it's the place to go if you're craving a tex-mex burrito.  However, this being London, they're aren't actually called 'burritos' here, their called 'burros'.

Crazy Homies is a tiny spot that most certainly benefits from its' larger downstairs dining room. Upstairs is cramped with one table in the front and lots of little tables arranged along the wall with small, uncomfortable looking stools facing the banquettes.  We had gone during the winter breaks and had gone early so there were very few people in (we were the second table when we arrived) but it's easy to see how the place could fill up fast and get a bit crazy... The music is fun (Violent Femmes, Blondie, etc.) though the decor is really heavy handed on the Day of the Dead tchotchkes.  The service, while efficient, was neither friendly nor rude - it just was - though one expects that the staff might have a tendency to take themselves a bit more seriously than is warranted. 

Mr. Ex-Pat and I were massively hungry so when the waitress came over, we immediately both asked for margaritas and an order of monterey jack quesadillas to start.  What I thought was a nice touch was that you are given a choice of either flour or corn tortillas (we chose the flour) and when they came, they were cut into quarters and arranged on a board with three delicious salsas - a chipotle (that was simply awesome), a salsa verde and a pico de gallo.  The quesadillas were good, if basic, and were slightly burnt (which made Mr. EP and I happy).  The margaritas however were another story.  The drink prices are insane for what you get.  The Classic Margarita was 7.50GBP and while heavy on Cuervo Gold (which I find equal to Clan Schwartz tequila - if such a thing exists) and ice, it was topped with pre-made mix from either a bottle or the gun.  It was a huge disappointment.  After all, it's not as though it's impossible to buy fresh limes in this country... Mr. EP was a bit more cynical when he suggested that perhaps Crazy Homies thinks they can get away with serving such a concoction because they underestimate their clientele.  At first I scoffed at the notion until two, older English women walked in and visibly (though not entirely literally) patted themselves on their backs for ordering such exotic fare as "tahkos".  The point was further driven home when I went downstairs to use the (only) w/c and one of the women stopped me and said, "Excuse me, do you get this kind of food?"

Since the point of this adventure was to have the first burrito we'd had in almost two years, Mr. EP ordered the Tender Spiced Chicken Burro and I had the Melting Pork Picadillo Burro.  We also decided to give the drinks menu a second chance and Mr. EP had the Paloma Plata which had lime, grapefruit soda & tequila (8GBP) and I had the Mexcal Mule which had ginger beer, tequila and lime (7.50GBP).  The drinks were slightly better than the margaritas but only just.

When the burros finally came - and I only say 'finally' because we were really looking forward to them - they didn't disappoint.  They came in a clay dish surrounded by iceberg lettuce and pickled jalapeno peppers.  The burritos (or burros) themselves were about six inches long and 3.5 inches thick and topped with a dollop of guacamole.  My burrito was a brick of jack cheese, pinto beans, cilantro, salsa and truly, melting pulled pork.  The pork, seriously, was amazing.  Super tender and perfectly seasoned and not a scary bit in sight (you know those strange gristly bits or errant veins that ruin the whole experience?).  Mr. EP insisted on giving me a bite of his (but I think it was because of the yummy noises I was making he wanted a reciprocal bite) and I was surprised at how subtly flavored his was.  The chicken wasn't spiced the way I thought it might be.  In fact, it was downright delicate - possibly because of his choice of black beans?  Either way, it was delicious though I think that as usual, I will stay true to my 'creature of habit' status and keep on with the pork.  The only changes I think I'll make are: 1. avoiding the cocktails and going straight for a a michelada and 2. trying the Barrio Chorizo Quesadilla.

Crazy Homies was well worth it and well worth going back to.  Not including the 12.5% service charge, our total came to 54.50GBP.

 

(It should be noted that Crazy Homies, Lucky Seven, The Cow, & Tom's are all Tom Conran restaurants).

Kettner's, 29 Romilly Street, W1

Mr. Ex-Pat and I have enjoyed going to Kettner's for a long time.  In fact, the first time I went was probably 2000 and he had been going before that.  It's always been an incongruous haven amid the hustle of SOHO's many, many pubs, restaurants, lost tourists, and drunken teenagers.  It had always been a hideaway of overstuffed leather club chairs and sofas with dim lighting and inviting nooks where champagne flowed either directly from bottles or by way of champagne cocktails.  If one had too much to drink or just felt peckish, it was possible to order bruschetta and the like or there was always the dining room on the opposite side of the building that had a full menu of pizzas and pastas in a very old-fashioned setting (think murals & mirrors).  It was a strange place but also magical for all of its quirkiness.  It's worth reading the history of the place (Oscar Wilde! Lily Langtry! Fred Astaire!) which can be found on their  website (http://kettners.com).

When Mr. EP and I came back to London to search for a place to live we had 7 days to do it.  After looking at upward of 6 rentals per day and each one worse than the last, we retired every evening to Kettner's and the safety of at least 2 (but no more than 3) champagne cocktails that tended to get watered down by our tears of frustration.  Kettner's helped us cope.  Then it was back to New York to pack and hope something would come up while we were away; that our relocation agent would find something for us in the interim.  (She did.)  When we finally made the move, we stopped again at Kettner's but this time is was subtly different.  More than a few of the deliciously overstuffed couches and chairs were gone, replaced by sleeker (cheaper) versions.  We didn't come back for a while.  The clubby atmosphere was slowly disappearing.

A few months ago, Mr. EP read that Kettner's had undergone a thorough renovation and so we decided last week to check it out.  Now, there were different menus for different rooms and even an additional bar area.  I checked out the menus online first and was impressed by the items on offer (and the prices) but I thought, it would probably be one of those situations where the menu descriptions were considerably better than the actual dishes.  I was hoping for mediocre at best.

We popped into the champagne lounge and took a seat at the bar.  The champagne cocktails now were garnished with orange peel.  I was a bit disappointed by that but decided not to say anything and I'm glad I didn't.  The orange peel brought out the flavor of the bitters nicely.  The bartender was a bit of a Suzy-Lead-Hands with the cognac but that was fine with me as well.  I left my drink for a minute and explored the lounge.  Gone entirely were the lovely leather sofas  and in their place were elegant settees, tables and chairs.  The floors had been stripped and stained nicely and the new tile work was divine.  The glass skylight in the back was gone and it was no longer possible to look into the kitchen.  The groupings of the tables made each little area feel extraordinarily private and no longer a place where it was possible to get a little bit raucous - this was a room where one had to be on best behavior.

After our drink, we went to the brasserie dining room for lunch.  The host showed us what was probably the worst table in the room which was odd since there were very few people there.  When I asked for a different table, he huffed and puffed about having to separate some marble-topped tables for us while we happily waited for him to get his back in it.  Mr. E.P. pointed out behind me that it was a shame that during the renovation, they hadn't stripped back the portrait moulding on the walls before painting over them again and I commented that the chairs looked like painted garden or outdoor bistro chairs.  The banquettes, however, were a lovely fawn-colored velvet and hugged the walls and the new marble-topped, center dining bar warmed the room.  Unfortunately, there were spots of encrusted food on my side of the table.

The service was decent - it took an age for our carafe of wine to arrive but when the manager came over to answer any questions, I fell in love.  He was charming and honest when I told him I was torn between two options, one of which was the Lobster Shepherd's Pie which he informed me was unavailable - "When the lobster is done, it's done," he said and then added that it's better during the week anyway; that the quality of the lobster on Sunday and Monday is fine but not great.  It turned out that the table before us had ordered the last one and as it went by, I resolved to come back on a Tuesday to try it; it looked heavenly.

The lobster pie being out, I ordered the French Onion Soup to start and the Free Range Chicken, Truffled Macaroni, and Simple Jus.  Mr. EP started with the Fresh Crab on Sourdough Toast, followed by the Fricassee of Rabbit with Morels and Papadelle. 

The soup was the best I've had.  In fact, it was the soup of childhood memories.  The broth was incredibly rich with a hint of sherry and the onions weren't stringy and had been caramelized.  The cheese on top of the round toast was sharp and copious and coated my spoon thoroughly.  I was actually sad when I finished it.  Mr. EP was impressed with the crab and gave me a good sized bite.  He was right - the crab was incredibly fresh - sweet, rich, and slightly briny with just a hint of mustard and worcestershire sauce.  It was also generously portioned.

I ordered the chicken for two reasons: first, I think chicken is one of the hardest things to cook well and second; I will do just about anything for anything truffled.  The chicken did not disappoint.  The skin was crisp and well-seasoned and the meat was lovely and moist.  The truffled mac came in a small, heart-shaped La Creuset crock and when I lifted the lid, the aroma of the truffles hit full blast.  The pasta was surprisingly light - almost as though there was no cheese, only reduced cream and maybe a touch of parmesan and it certainly wasn't dull.  Mr. EP's rabbit was another surprise.  The other hardest thing to cook, we find, is rabbit.  Because it has so little fat, it does have a tendency to dry out but this was a moist ragu accented beautifully by the morels.  The papadelle was homemade and cooked to perfection - al dente without being too firm and just the right thickness so there was no chance of it becoming gummy.  

Our skepticism went right out the window that Sunday lunch and I for one am looking forward to go back.  The staff were all very helpful and obviously excited by the relaunch - encouraging us to explore the Apartment Bar upstairs (the perfect place to have drinks, lunch & play a game of cards or even backgammon) and the private dining rooms.  Of course it isn't the Kettner's of old that we loved but this new incarnation is a welcome one and one I fully intend to visit regularly.  

Lunch, including 2 champagne cocktails, 2 carafes of Provencal rose, and service charge was 99GBP. 

Crazy Bear, 26-28 Whitfield Street, W1

Behind a traditional pub facade lies a glittery, two-story space in Fitzrovia where Thai food rules upstairs and a wide variety of new and classic cocktails reign downstairs.  Crazy Bear was recommended to us by the manager of our local pub so Mr. Ex-Pat and I booked a table on Saturday night for 7:30PM but we were sure to get their early for a pre-dinner drink in the bar.

After checking-in with the hostess, we made our way downstairs to the sunken bar which was ringed with low, shiny white stools.  Away from the bar were a small number of low tables with ornate, portrait-style chairs and elegant benches.  The dim lighting bounced off the mirrored spaces and the lacquered furniture which gave the room a sort of Zanzibar feel which may have accounted for the 30-something couple sitting next to us who seemed to be devouring each other at the expense of their champagne which was rapidly going flat.  We were immediately offered coasters and menus (they serve a small pates menu in the bar consisting mainly of assorted steamed dim sum) by the attentive and efficient bartenders.  Mr. Ex-Pat ordered a Light & Grassy which was Jim Beam, lemon juice, ginger & lemongrass cordial, peach puree and ginger beer served in a tall glass.  I personally hate Jim Beam but this was a fine drink - not too sweet and with a nice kick.  I ordered the Pisco Sour which Mr. Ex-Pat said was the best he'd ever tasted.  It was excellent.  I don't know if it was the best but it was certainly excellent.  Of course the thing about that particular drink is that there are so many ways to make it and each way is different - at Luz in Brooklyn, it has a frothy top layer that's accented with freshly grated cinnamon and orange zest, at Employees Only in Manhattan, it's a much more subtly flavored and refined affair. 

By the time we finished our drinks, our table was ready upstairs.  Going from the thumping beats of the bar, it was like emerging into an entirely different place altogether.  Small, round tables, each with silver lamps were spaced around wall-hugging leather banquettes.  Our waiter, Judah, came directly over to offer us water and menus (one wine list, one dinner menu which was sensible as one is obliged to sit next to each other for parties of two).  We chose an interesting Tokai Pinot Gris from Alsace (29GBP).

The dinner menu is relatively long (3 pages - the last of which describes the two tasting menus on offer) and the prices and portions make the items perfect for tapas-style sharing.  Mr. Ex-Pat and I started with the Assorted Steamed Dim Sum (two each of: sui mai, har gau, gu chai) and the King Prawn Tempura.  The dim sum was so well done that I would order my own portion next time.  The har gau especially was a treat though all three were standouts.  The prawns were also lovely but frankly, I think it's one dish that's pretty difficult to do poorly.  The batter was extremely light and crisp and the color made me think that perhaps rice flour was used?  The only thing amiss that I noticed (and really, not a big deal) was the accompanying dipping sauces both had a skin on them.  What was most odd about that was the sauce for the tempura was described on the menu as "Premium Soy Sauce" which it most certainly was not, though it was tasty.

Neither Mr. Ex-Pat nor I could choose a single main course so we opted to share the Spicy Stir Fried Chicken and the Slow Pot Roast Ox Cheek with a side of Wok Fried Morning Glory and a side of Egg Fried Rice.  Now, one thing that must be pointed out about the Crazy Bear Group is that they have their own farm where they source ingredients such as chicken and lamb and their eggs are never more than 24-hours old.  That being said, I have never had Egg Fried Rice like what we had Saturday night.  In fact, I'm not really a fan of rice (a bit pointless in my book and egg fried rice even more so) but this was something special.  

Anyway, getting a bit ahead of myself...

So, after spooning rice onto our plates, Mr. Ex-Pat took the lid off the Ox Cheek crock.  The aroma was wonderful.  Large chunks of meaty goodness poked out from a rich gravy of cane sugar, stock, onions, chilies, cilantro and who knows what else.  "This meat doesn't look trimmed to your standard," Mr. Ex-Pat announced and he was right... on the surface.  He dutifully spooned the leanest pieces onto my rice but one fatty bit slid through and while I saw it happen, I did nothing to stop it but took the bite and fairly fainted.  The cheeks had such depth of flavor and were so tender to quite literally melt in one's mouth.  I began to wonder if maybe the trimming comment was a ruse for the husband to get the lion's share.  If it was, he'd underestimated me.  

Next up was the chicken.  The chicken was stir fried and coated in a dry-rub red curry paste with long beans, red chilies and cilantro.  The flavor was fantastic - not too hot but with a nice, mild heat.  The chicken itself was infused with lemongrass making a nice complement to the curry.  Unfortunately, the chicken was a bit dry but still, very nice.  The long beans also tasted very fresh and had a nice crunch - where they got them is beyond me as they almost positively weren't frozen and often tend to taste a bit mealy the older they get.  

Finally, the Wok Fried Morning Glory was served with roasted garlic, red chilies and possibly a bit of soy sauce and had a fantastic flavor.  The morning glory was mostly crunchy though there were bits that had gone soggy.  All and all though, it was a winner.

There was nothing that we ordered that I wouldn't order again and after seeing some of the dishes that went to other tables (the pork belly, in particular), I will be hard pressed to narrow my choices for next time.

Including wine, our drinks from downstairs, and gratuity, our bill came to 113GBP and was worth every penny.  All in all, the food was fantastic, the service was impeccable (again, Judah was a star), and the atmosphere upstairs was elegant and almost serene.  The only thing I would caution is to not have too many drinks before using the w/c - go and you'll see what I mean!

Scott's, 20 Mount Street, W1

In New York, there is a certain type of restaurant (or bar, club, cafe, etc.) that opens to rave reviews and then is nearly impossible to get into.  A few months later, it is heavily populated with what are called the "Bridge & Tunnel" crowd; those people who travel from Long Island, Staten Island, New Jersey.  The worst of the B&T crowd descend en mass using their "outdoor voices" inside and tend to assume an air of proprietorial entitlement that can only be the natural result of having sat in traffic for hours on the BQE just to have dinner in the city.  Happily, the infiltration does not last long as the B&T crowd usually moves on to the next big hotspot as soon as they can get a reservation.

This is not the case at Scott's.  Scott's is consistently populated with everyone from film stars and footballers (WAGs and chavs in tow) to neighborhood locals and for some reason, at least of table of representatives from Essex.  Needless to say, it makes for interesting people-watching.

But people-watching is not the main event here - rather, it's what one does while waiting for one's cocktail or starter to arrive.  One comes to Scott's for the fish.  I must confess that while my husband and I have dined at Scott's a number of times, I am a creature of habit.  My husband (Mr. Ex-Pat), on the other hand, shakes it up every time and can vouch for the octopus carpaccio, the smoked eel, the wild rabbit on toast, and the wood pigeon on toast.  I've sampled all of his orders and so far, tend to favor the wood pigeon which was perfectly cooked (rare but not bloody) and very flavorful without being gamey.  The only time I deviate in my ordering is for my first course and then it's dependent on the season.  In the summer (depending on the month, of course), I will generally order either a half-dozen native oysters or their glorious zucchini flowers.  The native oysters are just as I like them best - fat, briny, with a slight sweetness.  The zucchini flowers are a thing of beauty as well - stuffed with robiola then fried in an exceptionally light tempura batter and served over a bed of heirloom tomatoes with just a hint of pesto.  In the fall and winter, I tend to start with the cod's tongues served with marrow.  This last visit, on New Year's Eve, I stuck with tradition.  The cod's tongues were served with ceps in a rich, buttery jus and accompanied with two roasted marrow bones and a piece of buttered, grilled toast.  The tongues and ceps were heaven though a touch overcooked but certainly not enough to quibble about.  The toast would have been served well without the butter as the marrow was rich enough without the extra fat.  The only complaint I had was out of the two pieces of marrow, only one was perfection; the other suffered from some sort of bloody-gristle nonsense that looked too unappealing to bother with.

As usual, I followed my starter with the 16oz. Dover Sole Meuniere which the waitstaff helpfully took off the bone for me.  The fish was firm and dense - the flesh perfectly seasoned and almost caramelized.  Mr. Ex-Pat and I decided to share a side of plain, steamed spinach which I flavored with a bit of the clarified butter from my sole.  The spinach however, did not need the dressing up I gave it.  The leaves were bright green and just slightly steamed so they retained their individual leaves rather than being the mess of dark green mush in brownish water that one normally gets in restaurants.  Mr. Ex-Pat threw me for a loop when he ordered the Roast Sea Bass with Clams & Sea Shore Vegetables instead of the Atlantic Halibut.  The halibut looks like a sad piece of fish when it arrives - bone-in, all alone on the plate - but dear me, is it tasty!  The chef wisely lets the halibut speak for itself by simply seasoning it and either roasting it or grilling it.  The Sea Bass on the other hand, was set in a bowl of a creamy, buttery sauce that was enhanced by the clam's natural juices.  The skin of the bass was crisp and the flesh firm with a hint of opacity.  Mr. Ex-Pat, who generally has an aversion to clams and mussels ate them with relish and pronounced the dish a winner.

Scott's is a favorite for boozy lunches particularly in the summer when it's possible to sit outside.  They make a mean classic champagne cocktail and vodka martini but the wine list is fairly limited if one is looking for a mid-range white.  There is a Chablis for 36GBP and a Pouilly-Fume at 40GBP that are very nice but one would like a few more choices in that range.

The only real complaint I have with Scott's is the cover charge.  Granted it's only something like 2GBP per person but seriously... When one is paying 150GBP plus the 12.5% service charge (or whatever it is - I can't remember) for lunch for two, doesn't it seem a bit mean to charge an extra couple of pounds for the privilege?