Patriotism and Chips. Part. 1: St John Restaurant, Clerkenwell
“Ze Engleesh food, eets er-bit ‘orrible non?”
Does that sound at all familiar to you? A Frenchman’s default response when asked what they think of England. It’s a run-of-the-mill unprovoked attack on our nation’s food. You probably weren’t even asking their opinion on our food; it was probably just some forced polite small talk you initiated. It’s not just the French. From the Spanish, you will likely hear: “Eh dis Ingleeeesh ehfood es ehbit ehcrap no?” From the Italians: “Eh! Dis-a Inglisha afooda, es abitta crappa no?” and so on and so on….
Do they have a point? There is no doubt that our food culture cannot compete with the likes of France, Spain and Italy. They hold food in much higher esteem and treat it with the respect and reverence it deserves at all levels of society. But when a foreigner produces that sort of outburst, I get offended. I want to come back with a measured, irrefutable and preferably witty, argument. Yet my mind goes blank. This is probably a telling sign.
Much has been written about why the situation with English food is so dire. Most trace it back to rationing from the war-time periods. Some, incorrectly, to the Puritanism of Victorian times which equated taking pleasure in food with sexual pleasure and therefore considered it a sin. If you are A.A Gill, you level much of the blame at Elizabeth David, the original Delia Smith, who first opened our eyes to the joys of Mediterranean cuisine and kick-started an obsession with international cuisine. All of this supposedly contributes to our national allergy to quality and delicious food and lack of a well defined national cuisine. I’m not convinced yet.
The dream is to one day defend the state of English food with a credible and valid response, if this is indeed possible…. To this end, I’ll be analysing and reviewing the beacons of hope within English cuisine whether that is a particular restaurant, dish or tradition. To kick-start the process I took a little trip to Clerkenwell.
Review: St. John Restaurant, Clerkenwell
Starters
Brown Crab meat on toast
Cold Middlewhite with quince
Roast bone marrow with parsley salad
Ox Tongue salad
Mains
Ox Heart and chips with aioli
Gloucester Old Spot Pot Roast with prunes
Smoked Eel, bacon and mash
Lemon sole with tartare sauce
Desserts
Bread and butter pudding
Rhubarb jelly
Bakewell Tart with jersey cream
Clementine sorbet with vodka
Background
Ever since Anthony Bourdain, the food writing maverick, described St John’s “Roast Bone Marrow with Parsley Salad” as his desert island dish I have wanted to eat there. Feargus Henderson, co-proprietor of St John, is widely regarded as godfather of “Nose-to-tail” eating. That is to say, a return to the indiscriminate approach to eating animal body parts widely regarded as unglamorous. He is also a true champion of British cooking and produce. Praise is regularly lavished on Henderson, his restaurant and what it stands for.
For such a back to basics, no frills restaurant, the Michelin star it holds and residence in the definitive S Pellegrino World’s 50 best restaurants list, No. 14 in 2009, are an impressive feat. Suffice to say that to eat in St John is to eat in probably England’s most important and influential restaurant.
Location/Setting
St John’s crusade to put offal and other meaty goodies back onto the dinner table means it’s location a stone’s throw away from Smithfield’s Market is an obvious and inherently inspiring choice. Walking past a symbol of great English butchery traditions not only gets a carnivore’s juices flowing, but also has the effect of seasoning the meal to come with some national pride.
Walking through the doors of the relatively modest façade, I am greeted by lots of merry city types with pint in one hand and a hog roast bap in the other. Beer + Hog Roast = an outstanding first impression and this was just the front bar. The praise for the setting stops there however. Walking into the dining area, the word “sterile” popped into my head. It was a little too bright and clean to fit in with Henderson’s rough and ready “pig scrotum and chips for breakfast” ethos. One of my dining companions correctly pointed out, the lighting reminded him of being in the office.
On the other hand, the service was excellent and another feature which made up for the lack of atmosphere was the beautiful simplicity of the menu. It is a one sided piece of card. The dish descriptions are simple and curt and there isn’t an overload of choices so as to put strain on the diner’s brain. There is no deception here and it screams confidence that a restaurant can put out such a restrained menu. It is also representative of English humility, a far cry from the verbose and exaggerated descriptions found on Mediterranean menus.
Starters
I was giddy with excitement waiting for the starter course. Even without Bourdain’s high praise, the Roast Bone Marrow with Parsley Salad is widely considered to be Henderson’s signature dish and therefore one is obliged to order it.
And so it arrived. Anthony Bourdain’s desert island dish just sitting there right in front of my very eyes. It was unintentionally but overwhelmingly sexy to look at. Five satisfyingly charred roasted veal bones with sultry pink gelatinous matter begging to peer out from the surface. A refreshing parsley, caper and white onion salad very simply dressed with lemon. Two doorstop-sized, charred white toasts and a coup de grace of grey salt on the side completed the dream-team.
It was incredibly moreish. The flavour of the marrow was subtle but sublime and the salad and sea salt elevated it to another level. The task of digging out the marrow with the provided utensil added to the enjoyment of the dish but it was the delicious grease surrounding my mouth and further afield on my face which reinforced in my mind that this was a special dish.
Unfortunately, the same cannot be said of the other starters. They were all fine, but lacked any sort of wow-factor in the taste department. If your dishes are going to be presented simply they really have to deliver on taste. The Brown Crab meat on toast had a deep flavour of the sea but was uninspiring. The Ox Tongue had a subtle flavour and deceptively buttery texture but ultimately a little bit boring. And the Middlewhite was….well it was cold roast pork. As delicious a cold roast pork dish as you are likely to eat. But it was just cold roast pork. The quince accompaniment was, however, beautiful and quintessentially English.
Main Courses
For the main course it had to be offal. The East End classic Ox heart with chips and aioli was the obvious choice and it did not disappoint one bit. The Ox heart, traditionally chewy, was impossibly tender and flavoursome. The chunky chips with a robust aioli were the perfect accompaniment. Too often aioli lacks balls. This aioli was no eunuch. It was pungent, tangy and still lingering on the breath the next day.
The Gloucester Old Spot pot roast with prunes was divine and I secretly had a bit of dish envy. Similarly, the oily, smoky eel was wonderful and the perfectly executed mash and bacon cut through it perfectly. It wasn’t a subtle dish and certainly not a dish for the faint hearted. The lemon sole however, was perhaps just a bit too subtle. Perfectly cooked and with an exquisite tartare sauce, but we were all agreed that it was just a bit bland for the type of food expected at St John.
Desserts
The dessert menu was chock full of English classics. We were all stuffed from St John’s grandma’s home-cooking sized portions but alas, just for you dear reader, we soldiered on. I couldn’t possibly write an article about the defence of English cooking without delving into the puddings.
Bread and Butter pudding was my weapon of choice, having suffered heartbreak upon hearing they had sold out of Henderson’s other signature dish: Eccles Cake and Lancashire cheese. It was top notch but exceptionally stodgy…which I guess is the point. The Bakewell Tart was truly special and would have Mr Kipling quivering in his boots. The rhubarb jelly was really intense, in an entirely positive fashion. The sorbets fulfilled their role as an effective palate cleanser and the strong Polish vodka provided that extra bit of courage for the biting January chill.
Verdict
All of the above reads positively. However, it does mask a certain feeling of disappointment that ever so slightly tarnished the experience. Make no mistake, the food was excellent (but not flawless) and showed off the best of English. It championed prized English produce (Middlewhite and Gloucester Old Spot pork, Jersey Cream and quince) and our love of hearty and delicious puddings with aplomb.
Ultimately, the culpability for my disappointment lies with Bourdain and my own romanticized expectations. I went in their hoping that I was about to experience total food mecca. I left satisfied and with a renewed sense of patriotism but conceding to myself that I was likely to have far better meals this year.
There is no doubt that St.John was a cracking starting point but I need more answers. Part. 2 of this quest will see me look at the sad decline of an East End legend: Pie and mash and jellied eels.