Being a Jamie Oliver nerd, I’d been waiting for the opportunity to try one of his restaurants. Being a fellow Essex boy I’m constantly disappointed that there isn’t one of his places in this great county. When Jamie, when? I’ll work there for free!
I do however make regular trips to Brighton, so knew the next time I would be sampling Jamie’s Italian. They don’t accept bookings so the four of us (3 adults + 1 child) rocked up in anticipation around 5pm and got seated quickly. I even asked to sit at a banquette to give us plenty of room and this was no bother at all.
My first impressions were of an American diner – quite chunky and glitzy. Jazzy murals of trainers and mirrors adorn the walls, meanwhile you can see right into the kitchen through a glass partition. The waiters have a pretty area, with butler sinks and rustic dressers to store their stuff. It’s pretty massive as well, not that they were short of covers!
Though the little one with us was sure to eat an adult’s portion, I asked for a child’s menu anyway because I’d heard they were unique. Indeed they are – 80s Viewmasters! Though the pictures are cute bafflingly there are no descriptions on any of them, so you’ve no idea what’s being ordered. The menus themselves are large and full of cheeky Jamie-isms as you might expect.
Immediately we ordered olives, being a firm favourite of my family. Described as ‘best olives’, that was certainly an apt description. Rich, plump green beauties with a meaty, almost parmesan-y tones. Set over ice and accompanied by ‘music bread’ – whatever that is – and olive tapenade, these truly were the best olives. Incredible.
Following from that we had a plate of meat antipasto and veg antipasto between the four of us. Antipasto always gets me giddy, I love courses where you can pick and nibble at different bits and pieces. These were an absolute triumph, laid on breadboards set atop two upturned tins of tomatoes. Wafer thin San Daniele ham, salty prosciutto, chewy mortadella… the meats alone were of the highest quality. Yet another fat olive and curiously plump capers finished this section off. There’s a cheese in the middle I can’t recall, but reminded me of manchego with membrillo. There was a tangy side dish of pickled carrot and beetroot which was just the right counterpoint. To leave the best til last, the mozzarella was the finest we had ever tasted. A paper-thin crust held a ball of soft creamy cheese that oozed in the mouth. Utter heaven. On the veg side there were some pleasing mixed mediterranean bits – courgette, artichoke etc – that were also delicious.
We then had an array of mains: lamb lollipops acheived that great combination of fun and tasty, with an array of dips; sweet potato lasagne that was warm and soothing; bolognese proclaimed to be “the best ever”; while I went for soft-shell crab. These were writhing great monsters, apologies for the dodgy pic but I was in a hurry to devour them. They were sweet and crispy and tasty, a real treat. If I had one complaint, it would be that there’s almost too much of it – even with my massive appetite I had out-crabbed myself – there were two whole crabs to nibble! In all the mains were incredibly satisfying, especially when paired with wilted greens and balsamic chickpeas.
For dessert we barely managed a bakewell, orange tart and range of sorbets. All were marvellous, the bakewell almondy and jammy, the orange tart thick and citrussy.
It was a superb meal – the best I’ve eaten this year and one of my favourite meals ever. Now when’s the Essex branch opening?!
I had the most sublime fast-food experience in New York: it was a burger.
As a devotee of Heston Blumenthal, I owed to myself to check out a bizarre little place where he had the best burger in the world. Nestled in an upmarket hotel was a greasy little burger shack without a name.
I entered the hotel and immediately felt out of place: opulence, grandeur and marvel. Marble floors, leather chaises longues, martinis served on platters by penguin waiters. But I knew the burger was here – I could smell it!
I darted through the lobby following my nose. Then to one side, between two innocent curtains, I glimpsed a neon outline of a burger. Down this corridor was a boxy little greasehouse, wood-panelled walls, red PVC banquettes, and loud rock music. What struck me was the chaos. Cardboard, hand-written signs were plastered around the serving area-cum-grill, urging that you get your order ready or face queuing up a second time.
I ordered two burgers with “the works” (lettuce, tomato, onion, sliced pickles, mustard, ketchup, mayo) and gave my name, while we were offered a cosy booth amid the heaving crowd. What struck me were the different people: suits, designer wear, builders, tourists… all here to grab a burger, and god knows how they’d found the place. The walls were also covered in scribbles, with notables such as Chuck Liddell, Joss Stone and Hiro from Heroes.
A minute later my name is barked (all burgers are cooked to order and to desired doneness) so I push through and grab my waxpaper-wrapped treats. I can’t wait to sit down and try it, so after some feverish unwrapping I take my first bite. It’s the texture that gets me, all loose and moist. But the flavours are then running through my mouth; savoury and salty. For what has become the ultimate symbol in garbage food, this was high dining indeed.
I had a truly awful meal at the legendary Lindy’s, opposite Madison Square Garden. Overpriced, pathetic and overwrought.
I had an open turkey sandwich, which consisted of two stale slices of white bread, piled with sandwich turkey, covered in packet gravy. Served with instant mash. Gross.
And their “world famous cheesecake” – which I went for – was distinctly average and grainy. I have many better ones, I’ve had better ones in the same month. Very disappointing.
Also – NYC restaurants close at 10.30pm as a rule – wassupwitdat?
At the Dallas BBQ, I was given the most enormous platter of BBQ brisket beef. No way could I finish the lot. And as if the coleslaw on the side offset the enormous meat intake!
