When Quo Vadis reopened in 2008 following a buyout and revamp by the famous restaurateur brothers, Sam and Eddie Hart (their other restaurants include Fino and Barrafina), it was virtually impossible to get a reservation. That distinction now belongs to Dean Street Townhouse, where despite numerous attempts to secure a booking, I have only ever been offered 6pm or 10pm timeslots. Two years on, and its much easier to get a table at Quo Vadis, so with any luck, in about two years time, I might actually get to have the pleasure of dining at Dean Street Townhouse.

Quo Vadis first opened its doors in 1926, and at one point it had the distinction of being Karl Marx’s workplace. Before the Hart Brothers took over the restaurant, it was part of the empire of Marco Pierre White, the chef who once held three Michelin stars but has fallen so spectacularly from grace that he is now a spokesman for Bernard Matthews.

The Edwardian building that is Quo Vadis has maintained much of its original charm. Art deco mirrors and elaborate art works, including a Damien Hirst, grace the walls. The furnishings are comfortable and elegant.

A starter of octopus, chorizo and artichoke salad (£8.50) was generously filled with the bite-sized pieces of soft octopus, hearty chorizo and tender artichoke. The dressing was light and pleasing, and overall, this was a lovely salad.

Octopus, chorizo and artichoke salad

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Kettner’s owes its name to Auguste Kettner, who as chef to Napoleon III, opened up a restaurant 1867. A ‘Soho institution’ that has seen the likes of Agatha Christie and Oscar Wilde passing through its doors, the restaurant has been through several reincarnations including that of a pizza parlour. The latest transformation took place in 2008 when it was extensively refurbished in its current guise as a restaurant and champagne bar.

Interior designer Ilse Crawford has created a rococo-style décor which has been softened with muted lighting to maximise the allure of the various objets d’art that graces the grand dining room and champagne bar. Large windows allow a bird’s eye view of all the Soho street activity.

The food is French/European, and we started with a grilled quail with orange and pomegranate salad (£7). The quail was nicely cooked, leaving the flesh moist, but the skin had been charred to the point where it was slightly burnt. It was also very peppery, which left a heavy pepper aftertaste. The salad was fresh, but it was overwhelmed by too much orange dressing.

Grilled quail, orange & pomegranate salad

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On Monday night I was invited to attend a dinner for the launch of Steve’s Leaves at the Soho Hotel. By way of introduction, Steve was the man who introduced the public to the idea of eating young spinach raw in the 1980s. At the time, people thought he was mad, but now it’s a concept that everyone is familiar with. Since then, he has continued experimenting with different baby leaf ideas.

When you talk to Steve, you know he’s completely passionate about leaves. Not only is he a farmer, he is also a leaf doctor. You see, Steve has an impressive PhD in watercress (yes, a PhD in watercress) and today his range includes four different leaf products (baby watercress, super hot rocket, wild red rocket, and a mixture of pea shoots, baby spinach and baby chard). The leaves are farmed using sustainable and environmentally friendly techniques which improves biodiversity. Steve’s Leaves is the only farm to hold the Conservation Grade/Nature Friendly Farming status.

We were able to sample the complete Steve’s Leaves range as part of a delicious 6 course meal.

The first dish was shoots and leaves tossed with toasted almonds, sesame seeds, avocado and a chipotle dressing. The dressing was a recipe of the lovely Thomasina Miers, a former Masterchef winner. She was also present at the dinner.

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My first impression of the recently opened Hix Soho, the latest offering from celebrity chef Mark Hix on Brewer St, was that it didn’t have a door. If you’ve been to the restaurant you’ll probably understand what I mean. But it obviously does as there were people inside – I could see them – but how they got in was a bit of a mystery to me. Inquiries made of the smokers standing outside the restaurant revealed that the door was in fact the colossal piece of wood (very tall and very wide) with no door handle anchored near the Hix sign. But no amount of pushing would budge it. “You need to push harder” the smokers advised. Obviously all those body pump classes at the gym hadn’t helped. I duly pushed harder and finally the behemoth gave. Clearly, you need some muscles to eat at Hix Soho.

But once I got in, I discovered to my delight that the place looked absolutely fab. Glamorous mirrors with an art deco touch line the length of the elegant bar which stands along one side of the room. The restaurant is finished in black and white, the tables are made from a warm walnut, and the lighting is fantastic. It’s soft, cozy and sexy, all at the same time. Only the various bits of ‘art’ hanging from the ceilings seem a bit odd. I couldn’t work out what they are meant to represent, although I am sure they are very expensive. This place dazzled and no doubt it’s been designed to cater to the well-heeled clientele.

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Bocca di Lupo

Up until recently, I was probably one of the very few foodies left in London who had yet to go to Bocca di Lupo. I know. Most people love it, and there has been an endless stream of great reviews that sing its praises. So why have I been so slow to go? Well, I was trying to let the excitement die down first before venturing there, or so I liked to tell myself. No, in truth, I was just flat right rejected for a reservation the couple of times I tried calling for a table at short notice. It seems that a lot of advanced planning is required if you want to eat at Bocca on a Friday or a Saturday night. So I decided to call early, weeks ago in fact, to secure a spot at the Chefs’ table (at the counter right in front of the chefs), and just prayed that I would happen to be free. Before you know it, the evening approaches, and to my surprise I actually find myself walking through the door of Bocca di Lupo.

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Pâtisserie display at Yauatcha

Having afternoon tea at a Chinese restaurant might seem like a strange concept, but when that restaurant is Yauatcha, a one-star Michelin Restaurant, it seemed like something worth trying. Yauatcha’s creator is the famous restaurateur, Alan Yau who propelled Hakkasan to international fame. Alan sold his majority shareholding in both these restaurants in 2007, although he still maintains a management interest. Alan Yau aside, part of my desire to try the afternoon tea at Yauatcha was also due to the spectacular and mouth-watering pâtisserie display in the restaurant front. If you have ever walked past it, you might know what I mean.

Preparing for a spot of afternoon tea at Yauatcha, or any other decadent high tea location, requires a strategy similar to the kind that you might adopt for a major sporting event. Truth be told, I’ve never participated in a major sporting event, nor even a little one, so this is pure speculation on my part. But I imagine that you have to be disciplined in terms of what you eat, otherwise you might not last the distance or perform to your optimum. In this instance, a lack of preparation could have jeopardised my ability to gorge on all the delectable sandwiches and scrumptious cakes, and that was simply not on.

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Okonomiyaki at Abeno Too

Last week, a fellow food blogger, 5 Star Foodie, contacted me to ask if I would guest post on her blog and I immediately jumped at the chance. Its always great to be able to share your love of food with other food lovers, but also extremely satisfying to be considered worthy enough to feature on another person’s blog. For this purpose, I wrote about Abeno Too, an okonomiyaki restaurant. So without further ado, please click on Abeno Too Review to read my post…

Abeno Too at:
17-18 Great Newport Street
London WC2H 7JE
Tel: +44 (0)20 7379 1160
http://www.abeno.co.uk/index_too.html

Goi, Vietnamese prawn salad at Viet Noodle Bar

I was running late. Worse yet, I was running late to meet my friend, J, who never ran late. If anything, she usually ran early. Having worked with her before, I knew her time keeping skills well, and punctuality was one of her core virtues. Personality-wise, as a cute version of Speedy Gonzales in a size four outfit, she used to zip around the office with the gusto of an Olympic ice speed skater. Highly energetic, she was so quick at what she did that I was never able to keep up.

The sweet irony is that I am generally, (occasionally?), reasonably, on time. In fact, more ironic was that I always seemed to be on time for those friends who run late for me. Take last week for example when I was due to meet a certain friend for a bite. For some perplexing reason there were no delays on Transport for London and I managed to arrive early. The friend then called me 10 minutes after we were due to meet to tell me he’d forgotten the time and he was only just leaving home. An hour and two glasses of champagne on an empty stomach later, I was surprised that I managed to still hold a conversation.

So feeling rather guilty when I finally showed up, I could do little more than apologise profusely. Being mid-week with certain work pressures in the office to uphold, it was just as well that we were having lunch at Viet Noodle Bar, where the service, like J, was lightning quick.

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