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.
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