Empanda Masterclass at Cau

A Review of Empanada Masterclass at Cau, Blackheath

Have you ever had the experience of not actually ordering for ages, despite hunger, because there are so many exciting options on the menu. Cau, in Blackheath presented the most impressive solution to solve this problem I have ever seen, they invited us to a master class where they presented the steak cooked in most of the ways of the menu. 

They called this an Empanada Master Class. I like empanada’s but I think they undersold themselves in the name here, no?

Wee..ll okay, they didn’t offer us everything off the menu, just  a hefty chunk of the crowded speciality cut steak menu, followed by the empanada’s they cooked (Cau wisely provided takeaway boxes for the ones their guests prepared, although please note that my husband won a bottle of wine for his efforts as joint 2 best empanadas.)

They certainly demonstrated some impressive cuts. We saw them raw first:

  
Got talked through how the cut is used by the chef – how to cut around the muscle, and slice and how to spice. My favourites were Asado de Chorizo. Alert Chorizo sign! always a good reason to seriously consider a dish from a menu. However no sausage featured in this Chorizo, this dish was sirloin with chorizo type flavours (paprika, chilli, garlic); and   Tapa de Cuardril, thinly sliced, well salted rump steak which drew frequent comparisons to bacon.

So that when Cau then sat us down for our main courses (yes, the sampling the entire menu and eating emapanadas was generally considered the starters), we ordered these as our mains. Brilliant. I was then presented with a brick of  Asado de Chorizo. 

  More steak than I could ever consider ordering… I’d remembered the flavour and forgotten to check the size: 500g.  Fortunately i had left a little room by declining the side of chips and ordered tomato salad, allowing me to steal my husband’s chips. 

  My husband  I had more reasonably Tapa de Cuardril endured its deliciousness throughout the meal.

  
None of this stopped us ordering desserts. Had they been a bit more boring, i might have considered skipping them – THATs how full I was. But the menu had a few intriguing options, including frequent use of the dulce de leche phrase. I settled on three-milk cake. All good. This was kind of a lemon meringue in basic ingredients but the added cream, condensed and evaporated milk (and no pastry) took the flavour in a completely different direction. And, no offence to Lemon Meringue Pie it was a good direction.

  
Shamefully, knowing that we started our meal at the same time as everyone else, we were the first to leave. Ah well, happy people eat steak fast.

*The  meal and masterclass at Cau were entirely complimentary to promote August’s #CAUnival (try getting that past spell check) and you should know that ‘free food’ always makes me happy (even if it was free cabbages). #CAUnival has been introduced to support the charity Action Against Hunger.

10-12 Royal Parade, London SE3 0TL

Each and every meal description was essentially a roast: Roast SE1 review

A Review of Roast in Borough Market

I’m not sure why a restaurant called ‘Roast’ appealed… A roast is a very acceptable meal type, but one that I have had once a week for a very long part of my life, and that can also be had for just seven pounds fifty or less at a large number of establishments… not all of which are bad.

Further to that, seven pounds fifty is a long way from the twenty to forty pound dish price (without sides) that Roast was asking for. In compensation the menu was suitably wordy for the price upgrade, so I figured I was subsidising fellow writers, and ran with it. The only issue was that each and every meal description was essentially a roast (I refer you back to the initial comments). I mean, chicken is chicken, Lamb is lamb, jumped up bubble and squeak is still jumped up bubble and squeak. What did appeal was the scotch egg, having had an absolutely brilliant version of this in Boisdales, but this was only a starter.

In the end I ordered the chicken beans and pancetta, thinking that it is a long time since I did the Italian chicken combination.

The staff were incredible. I’ll own up to being a little uptight on the way in… This was due to the fact that I actually had looked up online whether the market would be open on a bank holiday (which seemed unlikely) and being told that the food establishments would be. This proved to be far from the truth, meaning we turned up to Roast hungry and pretty much telling the staff that we would only stay if we would get our food quite quickly. Within seconds, the waitress was at the table to tell us which dishes could be prepared soonest, and delivered within moments of ordering.

The chicken was hearty… Very hearty indeed. That will be the beans, then. I am beginning to think that really beans should only come as beans either in their own baked right or in chilli con carne. But the slow cooked lamb was delicious, falling apart at the touch of the fork, and doused in a curious mint and onion chutney.

Desserts came not only with recommended dessert wines, but with recommended cocktails. You know how I feel about daytime drinking, but you can guess how I feel about matched cocktails….

Well the baked cream with cherries was disappointingly a creme brulee. I have no issues with creme brulee, live and let brulee, I say. But I wish I knew this was what I was ordering. The recommended cocktail was nice enough, a chocolate type attempt that I have forgotten the name of.

It was around about the stage that I was taking my second bite of the cinnamon doughnut, that I thought: I really feel quite full now, but the doughnut combined with the sherbet lemon ‘white lady’ cocktail was a little bit hard to stop tasting. Roast turned out to have even forethought the fact that diners who had dessert might struggle with even the smallest petit fours offered with their coffee. They provided rice crispy cakes. I looked and I thought, you know what, I do have room for that after all.

A steamed bun is hard to come by

La-Mian & Dim Sum of Greenwich market, you have a fight on your hands, nestled there to close to Jamaican jerk chicken, Mexican food, and churros (oh, those churros). But I have to say a steamed bun is hard to come by, and in my experience, rather hard to re-create at home (Jamie Oliver’s 15 minute meals offer a valiant attempt!) so I can see that you are holding your own…

I don’t know why steamed buns are not more famous at LMDSGM (I am going for an acronym here, as I can see that Dim Sum is a food, but not speaking Chinese I can’t see how to shorten the name any other way). It is such a great combination, the slight sweetish white dough around chicken things mushroom and spices. On the day I tried it, it would have been a slightly less dry combination had I remembered to pick up some plum sauce.

It is rewarding experience to see the food cooked in front of you in the space of a square yard, although I think I made this man a little shy when I took the photo.

We ate the steamed buns on the steps in front of the Cutty Sark and followed it up with roast duck on a bed of sticky rice. This was great duck and great rice, but over all a bit dry. It had been coated with sauce that failed to slip under the duck to the rice, and there was a delicious chutney in one corner which wasn’t nearly enough for the whole dish. Some more veg than two halves of a pak choi would also helped a bit.

Service was hard to comment on. We ordered, they cooked straight away, they said “here we are”. The only thing that slowed us down was our impatience to tuck in.

Oppression yields creative genius, a Review of My Detox Diet SE10

A Review of My Detox Diet in Greenwich SE10

Had I seen the name of My Detox Diet before seeing their cakes, I may not have ventured in. And the sheer abandon of the words gluten free and vegan in the window made me think twice even then. Funnily enough, I do cook a lot of the sort of things they do, and I don’t find vegan or gluten free a food turn off. “Detox” however is less enticing with its constant accusation of being a meaningless word. Good thing that the window of cakes was like a siren to my cake addiction

 

I am a big fan of some of the alternative nutrition food bloggers, not because I have any specific health needs, but I think that like any form of creativity, setting bars on what you can use is the best way to result in a genius invention. As an obvious start they will be using ingredients more inventively by necessity than someone with no such constraints. Oppression yields creative genius (this isn’t a political recommendation, by the way). Who would have known that the sweet potato brownie tasted so good, if no one needed to restrict their diet gluten free? So vegan and celiac chefs will be looked back upon as the food equivalent of Michelangelo of our current food renaissance. You heard it here first. 

 

But “My Detox Diet” are not nutrition nazis, actually they couldn’t be further than nazis, they were very sweet and understanding of the ignorance of the customers who at least believe they can still eat anything. It seemed to be a place of anything goes. For example, coffee was clearly allowed amongst all of the healing smoothies and juices. We found sugar, yes high quantities of sugar (12%) in our drinks (not by scientific testing, but by reading the ol’ nutritional info on the side of the can).

 

My cakes turned out to be vegan, and my drink was a sanpelligrino grapefruit fizz (possibly not vegan – who knows what is in any processed food these days?) which was a bit mean of me as I have no close vegan friends and many celiac friends who could have done with a gluten free recommendation. 

 

The coffee cake was rather wow, packed full of ground almonds, perfectly gooey and superior to most non vegan versions. I am not sure how come it was so moist when presumably so butterless.

 

The black forest cake was less good. It tasted like the list of compromises in cake making with restricted ingredients. It was made up of three different layers, a drier sponge, acting like a tart base for a chocolate brownie filling, and topped with forest fruits. These seem like good ideas but they were not working for me, the outside sponge too dominating, too dry, and too much not really cake at all. I could hardly taste the fruit, though I cannot quite understand why this is. 

 

Had I had more time, and stomach spare, I would like to have experimented with some of the offerings. Like those Spiriluna balls (Spiriluna being an algae that is full of protein and other nutrients). Do I believe it’s ‘all that’? Sorry, no I don’t. I am a born cynic, but do I think that a healthy diet is made up of diversity. And you know what, if I’m wrong about that, I can at least guarantee that a fun diet is made up of diversity… go cook!

Life is best lived by ending a meal with your favorite bite: Le Bouchon Review

Le Bouchon, Blackheath Review

Both of my favorite meals in France were eaten in rustic restaurants, with people drinking wine from elegant carafes, and Le Bouchon absolutely aims to channel this image in it’s bijoux location opposite the Mary Evan’s picture library. It’s pretty successful in doing this actually, especially on a Sunday evening where a singer and a guitarist strum whimsical French and English tune and the sun streams through the windows. We had not eaten before arriving and we knew that we would have to order food to accompany any drinking that needed to be done.

We anticipated cheese and ham platters, but what was a delight to find was that Le Bouchon offered a choice on every element of the platter. You could pick your own cheese and deli meat, each detailed on the menu and you could have as much or as little as you liked. We both ordered tapenade, which arrived with the equivalent of a small loaf of bread each, with dark rich olive dip that was hard to put down. Next came the cheese (with strawberry jam) we’d chosen Comte*, mature goats’s cheese, with a creamy depth that went well with the jam, and the best: a spongy and richly flavoured Ardechois bichonne, encased in mould. The meats were duck saucisson and Bresi (cured beef, smoked for 8 weeks), both curling on the edges with dryness and herbs.

 

 Now, since childhood, my mother has wisely ingrained in me the truth that life is best lived by finishing any meal with your favorite bite. This presents challenges when there is too much food, like in cream teas when you don’t actually have room for the spectacular looking cake at the top of the cake tray, after your sandwiches and scone with clotted cream. But Le Bouchon presented a different challenge…. It was not possible to decide which bite to end on. In fact, I relegated the Comte as ‘first finisher’, but I regretted it… with its extra dryness and maturity reminding me that this was not just any old version of one of my favorite cheeses. Having assigned Ardechois bichonee as the cheese finalist, the whole assessment had to be reconsidered in the light of the saucisson. My husband suggested that the Bresi was the best of the two, I committed to believe him and not think about it anymore at risk of frying my brain with the decision, and totally forgetting about the tapenade.

We ate all of this with a Bordeaux, and my husband had a St Chinian, Languedoc. Now, I have to remind you this is not a wine blog, but we both found the Bordeaux to be great alone, and less good with food, and the opposite with the wine from Languedoc. Yes, we sipped from each other’s glasses in order to know this. Every other table had a carafe, which looked temptingly romantic, but we just don’t drink enough to justify it. This didn’t cause the slightest of problems for the bar who opened fresh bottles for each of our glasses, and then resealing them immediately with a resealing machine.

The only flummoxing thing about Le Bouchon was the existence of ‘cake of the day’ on the menu. Cake is not the first thing I think of to complement wine (although, now I come to think of it, an olive oil polenta lemon and thyme cake might just do the trick) but my brain is hardwired to default cake as the most desirable item on any menu. But there was no further cake information to be found. There was no cake on the tables around us, or in a display stand or written on the blackboard behind me. It’s rare, but I looked around for a sign of cakeness for a few seconds, and then forgot all about cake amongst the wine and the deli.

*Sorry, I do not know how to add French accents on my keyboard. French accents abounded at Le Bouchon, though. Adding to the authenticity.

The Top is the Best Bit of Any Pie

The British Oak’s social media image has been raising an inviting image for some time, but errr, well, I’ve not been too sure how much of a lack of multiculturism to read into its name. In fact it took the closure of The Royal Standard (which, now I come to think of it, is a also a very imposing name – and it’s easy to mix up the two), for my friend to finally arrange drinks there. The kitchen normally closes at 9:30 and we were to be a 9:45 arrival, but the pub promised to stay open to serve us pie. The welcome turned out to be continued well beyond the electronic and telephone level, despite having staff training.

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The bar is inexplicably divided into what seems to be more of an eating area, and a drinking area. Ok, a split would be normal, but in the Royal Oak you can’t go from one to the other without leaving the pub. We started in the bar area, and rushed around to the eating area just in case our friend might be in there without us. She wasn’t, she was just taking a sociable time about arriving. Even had she been there she would have been perfectly content, the whole atmosphere of the eating area was happy and chilled. No lack of multiculturism seemed in evidence at all. There were even brummies present (myself included).

The Royal Oak sources pies from ‘Pieminister’. It would be nice to believe that the British Oak made the pie themselves on site themselves, but it didn’t really seem to detract from the combined, real ale, wood panelling, friendly pie eating experience.

I can’t claim credit for the excellent pie choice, as I insisted that I couldn’t eat a thing. There was a supposedly healthy pie option, called topless, but I have issue with the topless pie concept. I am after all a dieter, you know. But the top is the best bit of any pie, browned and crispy, while the base of the pie is frequently soggy and made up of the dreaded ‘waste of calories’ the fear of which dominates many lives. Please listen award winning Pieminister… Bottomless pies are the way forwards. You can put it all in tin foil to stop the contents falling out.

So being unable to eat a thing, I waited for my husband to order and then ate half of his pie. This was the ‘free ranger’, free range British chicken & ham hock pie with leek & thyme. Man, it was gorgeous and the gravy was even more gorgeous, so were the crispy shallots and the mushy peas were a seriously good upgrade from the chippy…. Mushy peas with bite.

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There wasn’t a thing to dislike about the British Oak, with charming staff and flowers on the tables and food and atmosphere. There really is something for everyone, and I think it may well be the best pub in SE3. I can’t remember what worried me about the name now… I have loads of oak in my kitchen and my home office and use both frequently (the kitchen more than the office).

Who told me that the food was bad in Iceland?

Who told me that the food was bad in Iceland (the country)? I mean, I am pretty sure that everyone told me that the food was bad in Iceland. They were misinformed. I journeyed out to Iceland thinking I would have to eat hot dogs every day as a penalty for being able to see the Northern Lights. In reality there was too much food to choose from.

We’d missed the tour of Reykjavik due a late night arrival and so battled into the city along amidst the snow storm that had prevented our next tour from even going ahead. Then we battled to the conference centre that was not just funky looking, but it was the nearest shelter we could see, spent as long as humanly possible looking in the souvenir shop, while we plotted how we would make the ten minute walk to the harbour side, and what we would do if there was nowhere to warm back up there.

We were rewarded for risking that 10 minute walk in the snow, in which we conjectured that the divorce rate must be high in Iceland. It is impossible to hear anything when you are wrapped up in hoods, hats, high snoods: “Did you remember to turn the lights off?” “Did you hear me?” “Did you remember to turn the lights off?…?!…?”. It took about half an hour in the end, because we found ourselves debating which of the 3 rather good looking cafes and restaurants we would risk. We settled on the fishy looking Hofnin. Here is a quick flash of the menu:      Do you see that pizza marina thing going on in the left of the menu? Pizza express eat your heart out! Didn’t have that, though. And that traditional all Icelandic fish stew… Nope, didn’t have that either. Even the waiter seemed confused when I asked for a recommendation. In the end, he said that fish broth is the reason everyone comes here. So I ordered that, sadly forfeiting all other options (well, what else could I do? Order the whole menu? Even I have my limits).   My broth arrived in a teapot, and I poured it over a reserved amount of fish food, including a sensitively cooked scallop. And once I had done that, there were flavours bouncing around all over the place. How can there be so many good flavours in a uniformly coloured broth? I wonder if I missed out on some incendiary new ingredient that will do nasty things to my insides in later life to make up for the experience.  The broth was rich and lightened by bubbles of cream dispersing into it.

My husband’s main course was salted cod with lamb fat and rye bread.    The lamb complemented the cod, this apparently being a very traditional combination for the Iceland. But what you really wanted to do with the lamb fat was dip into it with the Icelandic Rye bread. The very sweet rye was close to being Jamaican ginger cake. Seriously this could have been dessert. I wish I could have taken it home with me. The only flaw of this dish was that these flavours eclipsed an otherwise perfectly nice brown butter sauce

Some of the local rye breads are cooked in the volcanic ground. This led to a rather stomach busting experience at a spa that offered bread on a buffet later in our holiday. They were foolish to put this in a buffet, with all those tourists knowing that they had one week only to make the most of this bread. Butter is often serverd whipped with other flavours like beer and lavender.

Those main courses were not quite lived up to by the regimental parade of desserts.   Much effort seemed to be put into the staid appearance, but little into flavour, despite the menu sounding a little more promising. I am not sure they really understood dessert. But frankly, after that main course, they didn’t really have to. I recommend someone invents sugared rye bread and lamb fat. I jest not.


It gently snowed as we sat over looking the harbour with our coffees. Well it’s always gentle when you’re watching from indoors The coffee was good.  They certainly seem to understand coffee around here. There is something quite perverse that the further you get from a place that you can grow coffee, the more you ritualise it.   Exciting meals did not stop at Hofnin, however my notes have fallen away as my stomach enlarged. I feel kind of guilty about this, because I cannot name these exotic combinations served by ‘The Fish Restaurant’s’ guest chef Adam Dahlberg during the Reykjavic Food festive. You will not guess at the ingredients without the menu, but please enjoy the pictures:

  

  

  

I very much recommend Iceland as a place to go to just for the good food, at a good price. There is something very intelligent about the Icelandic approach to tourism. they do not miss a single trick to make money, but none of it is arch, pushy and all done with impeccable politeness. you tend not to find, for example, that you have been tricked into unneceessary expenditure. 

No, I mean Iceland the country, not the supermarket, and you are about the 57th person to make that joke. it’s not funny anymore.

Is there anything as rustically beautiful as an Oyster?

A review of the Oyster and Steak Bar in Waitrose Canary Wharf.

I know you don’t come here for reviews of supermarkets, but even if you find them very boring you will be in them very often. It’s not reasonable to expect me not to have an opinion no them when I eat from them so frequently.

I think we were shopping in John Lewis, which was why we ended up in Waitrose Steak and Oyster Bar. We were entangled in a rather expensive affair about the wrong type of wine glasses in the right boxes at a till on the upper levels that made us want to sit down and relax relatively soon.

To be honest, the view when coming to sit down was a little grubby. This was a late lunch, but it seemed that no one had cleaned up before the visitors preceding us. The menus were also a little wrinkled. The other disappointing thing about the menus, was the lack of a steak and oyster combination. I mean, maybe steak and oyster isn’t ‘a thing’, but it becomes ‘a thing’ in your head when you go to a bar that is called a steak and oyster bar. There was a degree of surf and turf, but it featured lobster rather than oysters.

So we ordered 6 oysters to share. Followed by steak. This seemed the only appropriate response to the crisis.

Is there anything as rustically beautiful as an Oyster? If I tried to paint one with photographic perfection, it would still look like I had messed up the paints.  And these oysters were pure seaside. I always put the proffered lemon or chilli on them, and then decide that really they are best eaten just alone.

There was a veerrry long wait for the steak. Perhaps the chef had read my review of Cau and thought that he should charcoal my steak to be sure not to receive the same verdict. We could see the chef breaking open packets of Waitrose steaks to cook. I had thought that there was a good range of sauces, and went for chilli and garlic butter, with just a little regret that I did not choose tarragon butter as my husband did. However these arrived as discs of butter (yes, they had said butter) and I think that sauces would have been vastly superior. But both steaks were excellent.      Who can account for the amount of daytime champagne drinking that occurs at a steak and oyster bar? Is it the oysters have a knee-jerk relationship with champagne. (Oysters don’t have knees, so this doesn’t make a lot of sense). I really wanted champagne myself, but I have learned that day time drinking is not for me and on this occasion my sensible side won out.  

  Just so you know, the wine glass debacle has resulted in me having white glasses and red glasses. This feels a little too snobby for me, really and I am still trying to come to terms with it.

I would like to tell you how my husband’s beer battered haddock was..

A Review of the Vanbrugh Pub, SE10

We were crowded out of Greenwich on Saturday lunch. We should have spotted the inevitability of this, when we couldn’t even park before getting to the eating stage. We popped our head around the door of so many places that I have yet to review: Heap’s sausages, the replacement to the Spread Eagle that has strange coloured cakes, and all they could offer was outside seating. It was about 2 degrees outdoors, so eventually we got back in the car and went to the Vanbrugh. Nestled in its own personal hill (that’ll be Vanbrugh Hill), the Vanbrugh’s pastel colours have caught our eye a few times.

Amongst the Vanbrugh’s recent improvements are a light and airy extension at the back with a visible kitchen that promises good things, or at least an absence of things that you wouldn’t be prepared to do to people’s food when they are watching… like defrost it for example. Next to the kitchen is a blackboard of events, I peered through to take a look…. all of the events were football matches to be shown on the TV, which was a bit disappointing. We sat in the extension. There were after all sofas, and sofas are good for Saturday afternoons and we drank Meantime beers  although with one of us being a driver we pondered the necessity of Meantime to produce a non-alcoholic version.. so long as they are not chicken..

I would like to tell you how my husband’s beer battered haddock was, but post chips calamari, and a burger where I didn’t even try to eat both sides of the bun, really there was no room to sample it. Here’s the evidence that the visible kitchen may be more than a party trick: the tartar sauce appeared to be truly homemade… the sample on the plate of haddock differed from that on the whitebait. There was very little fat on whitebait (with the recent chubby whitebait in Papa Charlie, I’m figuring whitebait has upped its game. Can’t they do this to calamari?) but chips were mega battered. Fair enough to the chips, they were called triple cooked and they were delicious, so I don’t find this as offensive as the lightly battered cod cheeks served down the road in the Cutty Sark.

Lunch at the Vanbrugh

Triple Cooked Chips and Burger

I shan’t be reviewing this honest fare type food again soon. There’s a heart to maintain, so make the most of it now. Dessert was a little disappointing. My pink lady crumple was only dusted with crumble.  I wonder if this was the chef’s conscience coming to the fore having served the earlier fatty dishes. The custard still tasted good with welcome flecks of vanilla, but it was more of a drink than a sauce. This makes me think of making a custard drink for the fireside to supplement, err… I mean alternate with hot chocolate and Bailey’s.

From traditional crumble the second dessert of salted caramel and chocolate brandy terrine with dulce de leche ice cream was more wannabe gourmet. And I say wannabe, not because it was bad, but because it did not actually arrive with dulce de leche ice cream. Now this is more forgivable in a pub than in Chapter’s where I have had a similar experience, so we did not complain, but I wish more places would pay attention to this detail, having promised much. That said, the salted caramel and chocolate brandy terrine was good enough in its own right.

 

As we laid back in the sofa, allowing as much space for our stomachs as possible, my husband’s phone buzzed to tell him that his hard won car parking space in Greenwich village was time up. A waste of the Greenwich cost of parking.       

I don’t care if it makes me fat this week, I HAVE A COLD.

A Review of The Viceroy in Chalrton SE7

Have you ever had one of those streaming cold write off days, when even if you were at home it was a waste of a day because all you can do is lie  in bed and resent your immune system? Yep? And that feeling that only a curry appeals as you believe only this has the power to blast through the veil around your sense that doesn’t let anything else in (the other exception being whisky and brandy which are vastly preferable to strepsils). So why did we visit the Viceroy in pleasant Charlton on an Tuesday evening? BECAUSE I HAD A  COLD. (Still do actually. Sympathy welcome).

This also means that midweek calorie concerns are off the table. I don’t care if it makes me fat this week, I HAVE A COLD. Did I mention? So no caution was to be exercised over the ordering of popadoms. Has the hotness of lime pickle been diminished? I have noticed this at quite a few places lately. When I first tried this exotic delicacy as  a student Exeter I was physically punched in the mouth. Who changed? Me or the pickle? Will I get to keep the mango chutney when the assets are divided, or will even the chutney mean nothing to me in the absence of pickle?  I feel sadness. Maybe even regret.
I enjoyed the mango lassi, but was it actually a desert drink. The waiter seemed to think so too, as he looked confused at my choice to have it over popadoms. It was a good combo tho, the fatty crisp popadom and the sweet yogurt drink. Almost forgot I was lactose intolerant, but I didn’t seem to suffer too much for it.
Service was a little bit ‘in your own time…’ which was a bit odd as we were the only people there for the first half hour so it can’t have been busy-ness that held them back.
The Rogan Josh was pleasant, brimming with wedges of fresh tomato, but we think they left the chilli out, not to mention the ginger. It didn’t quite burn off our colds. The prawn dhansak added some needed kick to make up for it.
dishes of curry

Rogan Josh and Sag Aloo

I am not a fan of peshwari naan. I usually like sweet and savoury combos but not this one. Too stodgy maybe? But my husband is always letting me choose plain and my husband was being very nice to me despite the fact he also had a cold, so it was really his turn to choose the naan. Sharing it was actually a challenge. I tried to rip it which felt more authentic. It resisted me as if I was ripping a frisbee. I decided to throw ‘authentic’ to the well people and took a knife to the naan. It didn’t help. When we eventually hacked through the bread, I discovered I have not changed my mind about disliking peshwari naan and let husband finish it himself.
 
I never come away from The Viceroy feeling cheated. In fact given the insignificance of the bill I come away feeling flush. But I don’ t come away feeling as if I have had the most magnificent meal either. Just pretty well contented.