Xu

Visiting Xu is like travelling through space and time. Stepping off the dank streets of the no man's land on the outskirts of Chinatown and theatreland, you squeeze through Xu's wooden doors and suddenly find yourself in 1930s Taipei. It's a world of darkly gleaming leather booths and neatly pressed smiling staff dressed in white, filled with the soft buzz of conversation and the clacking of mahjong tiles being washed in the private rooms at the back. Ceiling fans whirl overhead, there are fabulous Asian-inspired cocktails on tap from a lacquered bar on the first floor and as you pore through a menu that resembles an old Chinese newspaper you may feel as if you're sitting down to dinner on a humid evening in the East. I myself rather wished I'd dressed to kill in a tight cheongsam, hair in a bun and a slash of red lipstick.

Xu hails from the Bao family, but if you've arrived hoping for a bite of one of those little fluffy gua bao, you'll be disappointed. Don't worry, though - there's a far more expansive menu here, offering everything from xiao tsai (bar snacks) to dumplings, buns and huge mains. In my opinion, these combined with the beautiful surrounds make for a more high-end dining experience.

The xiao tsai I mentioned before: chilled clams on ice, given an almost nuclear glow with basil oil and a chilli marinade. I thought these made for a fun visual alternative to oysters on ice as a starter.

Dumplings, cuttlefish toast and xian bing. The latter were filled with pork so I didn't try them, but my family (still bemused by my refusal to eat meat at this point) benevolently ordered me taro dumplings filled with sweet potato and miso sitting in a pool of bright green sauce. The best of the three was the crisp, salty cuttlefish toast accompanied by whipped cod's roe mousse for dipping - a playful, elevated take on the classic Chinese takeout menu, prawn toast.

XO carabinero prawns which left us with messy fingers and zero regrets.

The standout dish: little chunks of smoked eel soaked in a tangy tomato sauce and crowned with tangles of dried daikon. This delivered on multiple levels, mixing and balancing sweet, salt and sour flavours and offering an appealing array of textures. Loved the minimal presentation too.

Beef shortrib and marrow pancakes: a pleasingly creative twist on classic Peking duck pancakes.  Although I didn't try this, I enjoyed the ceremonial process to be adhered to: scraping clean the bone filled with marrow and ground shortrib and sprinkled with potato and carefully adding it to the traditional thin pancakes along with the usual accoutrements of thinly sliced cucumber and spring onion.

Chilli egg drop crab and grilled sea bass topped with chilli. I thought the sea bass was presented in a striking manner - with its stripes of red and green, it was almost like a flag - but unfortunately the taste was a little forgettable. The crab, meanwhile, was delicious - a riot of flavour yet not overpoweringly spicy, with the sweet brown and white crab meat mixed with chilli, garlic and fermented shrimp, the texture enlivened with little bubbles of cod roe.

Finally, pudding. I've often observed that in Asia there's less of a focus on dessert, as they tend to focus on working sweet flavours into savoury dishes, and so perhaps there's less of a need for something sugary after the main courses have been put away. But that's not to say that the Taiwanese don't take their pudding seriously. Here, we were presented with a light dome of ma lai cake encased in a sweet little bamboo steamer. It was hard not to feel nostalgic eating this cake - I felt it evoked a bygone era, recalling steamed cakes served with custard under the warm glow of the heaters in the school canteen, or perhaps colonial Malaysia, as it came accompanied by little vessels of condensed milk and orange butterscotch sauce. 

In my next blog post, I'll be writing about a restaurant that turns my preconceptions about Asian desserts upside down. For now, I hope you've enjoyed reading this review half as much as I enjoyed the experience of eating the food. This was a sensationally enjoyable meal - a true feast for the senses, and probably one of my favourite meals of the year. I might have to learn mahjong so I can legitimately rent out one of the back rooms...

Xu

30 Rupert Street

London W1

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Birthday Feasting at Clipstone

Birthdays are a big deal in the Lim household. In the days preceding a birthday dinner, I happily embrace austere supermarket meal deals and minimal pasta-based dinners so as to enjoy myself fully on the big day. This stomach-preparing technique came in handy on B's birthday at Clipstone. Like its sister establishment Portland, Clipstone is named after the street it's located on - fitting for a joint that describes itself as a 'neighbourhood restaurant'. Clipstone Street itself is fairly insipid. One of the capillaries that branches off the great arteries of the Euston Road and Oxford Street, it's at the base of the BT Tower, a quagmire of office blocks, pubs and betting shops. The eponymous restaurant, however, is a different beast, and one that refuses to conform to its environs. Through a heavy door and fluttering curtains is a little oasis, illumined by candlelight and gentle chatter. 

Clipstone is one of those admirable places whose menu - both set and à la carte - revolves around what's in season. Personally I think that it's a sensible as well as exciting way to structure a menu - I like knowing that what I'll get next time will probably be quite different from this visit. On this occasion, we were starving from a day unfortunately spent in classes and quickly settled on the set 'feasting' menu. Fewer choices to make, more food for your money - what's not to love?

The feasting menu is exactly what I love in a meal - seemingly endless dishes that materialise at the table, Hogwarts-style, each one practically a surprise. To start, we mopped up gorgeous lemon-infused olive oil with hunks of sturdy sourdough. Each citrusy bite transported me back to summer in sun-drenched Puglia. Addictive stuff, and unsurprising that we insisted on keeping it on the table right up to dessert.

Sea trout tartare with oyster ponzu and fermented oca root. Fresh and delicate, this tasted of the ocean spray on the seafront, and made me want to jump on a train to Devon.

Lardo di colonnata. This dish was bizarre yet beautiful - a rumpled white handkerchief of cured fat studded with earthy caramelised walnuts, almost impudent in its minimalism and yet making for an extraordinary flavour experience. My first nibble took me back to a childhood spent in the Chinese restaurants in Bayswater. Just like the fat on char siu or crispy pork belly, the lardo tasted silky, faintly porky and melted in the mouth. It wasn't on the feasting menu but I was dead set on ordering it anyway - a good move, as it was easily one of the most striking plates of the evening.

Little roundels of raw Yorkshire hogget with acidic sheep's yoghurt, sheep's cheese and olive oil - perfectly fine but unspectacular. As a teenager, I was a zealous proponent of meat and cheese at every meal, but times have clearly changed. The hogget was quickly jostled from my memory by the following dazzling non-meat dish...

Yellow sprouting broccoli and rainbow chard bathed in dulse butter with a sprinkling of flaked almonds. Smoky, creamy and crunchy, this was vibrant and completely delicious. I love it when recognisable, everyday vegetables take centre stage, and these were made special and tied together by the butter sauce and smooth broccoli purée. The broccoli was a definite contender for my favourite plate of the night, and one that we had no qualms about licking clean. 

Isle of Mull scallops cooked and served in the shell with cauliflower, pomelo and shiso. I have little to say about these other than that they had a lovely texture, were lots of fun to scoop out of the shell and we devoured them in about five seconds flat. A simple pleasure. (In niche scallop-related news, I recently learned about the significance of the scallop shell in relation to pilgrims and now want to know more about the symbolism. Paging all art historians, help please...)

Tortellini of fennel and ricotta, olives and fermented kumquat. This was an experimental dish, and one that I found interesting but ultimately couldn't decide as to whether it worked or not. The shells of the tortellini were slightly too thick for my liking, while I would have loved more ricotta filling and was uncertain about the kumquat. However, the olive and fennel flavours were nicely balanced and I liked the texture of the toasted buckwheat. On another positive note, these are definitely the cutest tortellini I've had. Isn't the one at the front kind of coquettish? And there I go, ascribing anthropomorphic qualities to a piece of pasta.

Yellow foot chicken with burnt aubergine, radishes, ramsons and seeds. A luxurious plate: I really appreciated the combination of creamy, fatty chicken and peppery, crunchy radishes and garlicky ramsons.

Our waitress described the desserts as the 'nail in the coffin' and oh lord, they were. This savarin with gariguette strawberries and chantilly cream heralded B's birthday and the beginning of a serious food baby for me. There was an interesting interplay between heavy and light here: the actual sponge was unexpectedly heavy, lifted up by the summery, quintessentially Wimbledon flavours of strawberries and cream. 

Lemon meringue tart. Just look at it - it's a knockout. I loved the dazzling yellow colour of the lemon sprinkled with the tiny verdant leaves of basil, which produced a surprisingly thrilling marriage of flavours. The array of textures here was delightful: a crisp, super-thin crust, creamy citrus filling and squidgy, sugary blowtorched meringue topping which resembled lava spilling out of a volcanic vent like in Werner Herzog's Into The Inferno (which, by the way, is worth a watch.) This was a classic with subtle twists, done incredibly well. Initially I was disappointed that the Paris Brest of Instagram fame wasn't on the menu, so it's testament to Clipstone's pastry chef's skills that I left with a big smile on my face and no choux-related regrets. She's clearly a rising star.

Clipstone delivered on every front for B's birthday. We were presented with a seductive meal - one whose dishes were amusing, original and yet classic, and made for a lovely time. B was left full of food and excited for a surprise trip to Hamburg (his present from me, and one I was so relieved to reveal after tortuous months of trying to keep it under wraps!)

And beyond Clipstone...I'd be remiss if I didn't mention our excellent nightcap in The Vault, a speakeasy hidden away in a Soho basement. I loved my Old Fashioned with a coconut butter twist, and B discovered true love in Irish whiskey form. A fine chaser to an excellent meal.

Clipstone

5 Clipstone St

London W1W 6BB

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One Year at Honey & Co

I'm a sucker for Levantine cuisine. I know my sumac from my dukkah thanks to my Yotam Ottolenghi devotee parents and boyfriend, plus religious reading of Yotam's weekly Guardian column. I'm also a big fan of the great man's delis and Nopi, and last year branched out to try Berber & Q, whose cauliflower was easily one of the best things I ingested in 2016. When choosing where to surprise B on our anniversary last month, Honey & Co was the first and only place I had in mind. 

Honey & Co is a teeny joint run by husband and wife team Itamar and Sarit. It's blessedly tucked away from the tumult of Euston Road, shielded by one street and its distinctive blue and white awnings. Its diminutive size and incredible popularity mean that it's pretty hard to secure a table here - booking is essential. There are a couple of walk-in spots by the window but be warned, you may have to wait a couple of hours if you swing by around dinner time. But whether you plan ahead or take your chances on the night, you should do whatever it takes to get a table here.

Eating at Honey & Co is like dropping in at a good friend's place for a chat and maybe some tea and cake, who then benevolently rustles you up a sublime home-cooked dinner. The décor is simple and clean, with one wall dominated by preserves and granolas, looking for all the world like you've accidentally wandered into a well-stocked pantry. Also, as I've mentioned, this place is small. There's only ten covers, so the restaurant isn't chaotically loud and a meal here feels undisturbed and intimate. This is the kind of place that you can comfortably rock up to with just a book for company, as several diners around us did. Also, the waitresses are frankly the type of people I want to be friends with - one girl, all smiles, kindly explained Purim and the symbolism of the very cute hamantaschen on the counter for me. I've only picked up such a relaxed, homely vibe at one other place - Le Zie in Lecce. That restaurant has a very special place in my heart, so even before I'd eaten a bite here I was in a good mood.

And the bites here are astonishingly delicious. B and I were drawn in by the promises of the set menu: a magical array of mezze that threatened to tip over the edge of our little table, followed by our choice of main. A slightly pricier set menu includes dessert, but still full from an early anniversary breakfast at Duck & Waffle, we opted for the non-dessert menu. Of course we still shared a pudding - we'd be remiss if we didn't here...

Among our cornucopia of mezze were the usual suspects: falafel, hummus, pickles and kalamata olives plus some more exciting plates such as a quince salad, tahini dipping sauce sprinkled with sumac, marinated aubergines, and much more. For me, the highlights were:

An incredibly creamy, smooth hummus begging to be mopped up with the three varieties of bread that came to the table (to be replenished on request). My favourite was the flatbread, though the spongy milk bread also made for a good conduit for the accompanying dish of grassy green olive oil.

This savoury-sweet poached quince salad with curd cheese, lamb's lettuce and honeyed hazelnuts. I've never had quince other than in the cheese companion context, but was delighted with this salad, which was sweet, light and incredibly moreish with a subtle chilli kick. You can order it as a small plate on the main menu, something I'll probably do on my next visit. I think this is a perfect spring dish and can imagine trying to replicate it for a dinner party in the garden.

Warm mushrooms with thinly sliced preserved lemon. These had a lovely meaty texture and sang out with umami. I've never had the patience (or organisation) to preserve lemons in the past, but after tasting these I reckon I'll have to make them a summer project.

Bouikos, little Balkan cheesy pastries, which came to the table warm and were guzzled straight away.

And so on to the mains. This is where I was really reminded of Nopi (which I wrote about here) - and no wonder, as Sarit, former pastry chef at Ottolenghi, was also executive head chef at Nopi. B, who was addicted to lentils in all their forms when I met him, opted for this hearty lentil stew with burnt aubergine, tahini, zehoug, scorched egg yolk and sfinj bread, the perfect vessel for mopping up the last of the wintry March weather.

My choice was this roasted mauve aubergine with a barbecued tahini crust, jeweled rice salad and lime. The tahini was fudgy and lent the dish an unexpected heaviness, offset by the wealth of juicy pomegranate seeds spilling across the plate like a recently unearthed trove of red rubies. It's this kind of beautiful dish that I'm sure tempted Persephone to nibble on the pomegranate seeds in the Underworld. Speaking of temptation and restraint, you may have noticed that this is an entirely vegetarian meal. B and I have been trying to cut down on our meat and fish intake over the last few months, and although we definitely won't say no to meat on special occasions, we've been making an effort to eat less of it at home - and haven't been missing it that much. Anyway, this aubergine was so filling that regretfully I couldn't finish it (though admittedly I didn't feel as guilty as I might leaving scraps of chicken or pork behind). It was a good thing that I reserved a bit of tummy space, as I'd been advised by our waitress to save myself for dessert...

The much-hyped 'cheesecake': a honeyed mound of creamy kadafi cheese sprinkled with baby basil, blueberries and roasted almonds perched atop a bird's nest of baklava-like vermicelli. We ate this with two spoons (sharing is caring, after all). I really can't do justice to this with words alone - all I can say is that it's totally worth feeling like you need to go and lie down to digest, all the while gently moaning and convinced you won't eat for days.

Honey & Co was everything I hoped it would be, and the best place for B and I to have a quietly spectacular feast for our anniversary. I hope I get to return on multiple occasions to see what else Itamar and Sarit have to offer. I want to try that fêted babka, and pay a visit to Honey & Smoke! Until next time, I'll be spending my days dreaming about the cheesecake.

Honey & Co

25a Warren Street

London W1T 5LZ

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25 at Petit Pois

My real birthday was easily one of the happiest days I had in 2016. It was also a Monday and right in the middle of winter exams, so that's really saying something! I woke up to a very early breakfast in bed made by a secretive B: perfectly scrambled truffled eggs, fluffy pastries and, of course, a steaming mug of my favourite lemon and ginger tea. It was the perfect way to start the day and set me up for a morning in class, after which I had lunch with my classmates - a chicken katsu box from the wonderful Whitecross Street Market - and surprise chocolate cake in the university foyer. 

Wonderful B, my love, then whisked me away from university to central London to escape revision for a day. We made a concerted effort to enjoy Winter Wonderland for all of five minutes (sorry, WW lovers - I think it's best in the dark, maybe!) before giving up to walk through leafy, lovely Hyde Park instead. It was a beautiful December day, misty yet bright, and we delighted in leaving the hubbub of Marble Arch and its harried Christmas shoppers behind for what could have almost been a stroll in the country. A weak sun nearing the winter solstice dipped low in the sky as huge hounds raced around the park, tongues lolling merrily, happy to be off their leashes. Hand in hand, we walked to the museums and spent the rest of the afternoon at my cherished childhood haunt, the Natural History Museum, taking in subject matter as diverse as cetaceans and pyroclastic flows. So it was that by 6 PM B and I were already exhausted, feet swollen, as we made our weary way back to the City for dinner at Petit Pois. B knew I'd wanted to go to Petit Pois from the second I read that there was going to be chocolate mousse. And oh, what mousse. But hold on, I'll get to that later.

B chose well: I couldn't help but fall for the restaurant from the moment we walked in. It's on Hoxton Square, a comparatively tranquil pocket of town where the City meets Shoreditch, thankfully tucked away from the din of Old Street. Petit Pois itself is fairly tiny and has a distinct character - it's a French joint, of course, but steers clear of the clichés that go with the stereotypical bistro set-up. No crooning Hardy, Bardot or Piaf here - you're more likely to find cool American blues here, all mellow and jangly guitars, plus simple décor: wooden tables, tealights and exposed brick. All of this gives the place the vibe of a sweet local, a surprising and exciting find. 

A short menu of French classics meant that I didn't have to spend long choosing - the best birthday present for a neurotic. First: Stornoway black pudding. Apologies to the faint-hearted - you know I'm a fan of nose to tail by now. Hearty, indulgent, velvety discs, a wobbly poached egg nestled on top. A thin Nile of red wine sauce awaiting the inevitable rush of sticky golden yolk. Smoky lardons amping up an already sublimely rich dish. A consolation of greens hovering anxiously on the side. (Thanks owed to B for that description). A promising start to the evening.

Not pictured but worth mentioning: the wine. Helpless and ignorant in the face of wine, I knew only that I didn't want something dry so asked for 'lush' recommendations: the patient sommelier interpreted my request perfectly and brought us two suggestions. Mine, a Chateau Beynat Bordeaux, was smoky and complex; B's, the fragrant 'Cabaret Frank No. 2', smelled like dipping your head into a bramble bush (although much more pleasurable). Both were exceedingly good and went very well with our meaty mains. 

For me: steak frites. Rare yet done extremely well (a masterclass in how to cook a steak, I thought)  and accompanied by a bearnaise so thick and tasty, I couldn't help but mop up every last drop with my skin-on chips. Serious chips. Really excellent.

For him: duck confit. The better of the two mains, I thought - the duck, all tender meat and crisp skin, was positively falling off the bone, while the dauphinoise gratin on the side, intended perhaps as a cameo, almost stole the show all by itself. It's always been one of my favourite dishes and this one was particularly special, swimming in a magical rosemary flavoured cream. Rosemary for remembrance - and this, an unforgettable dish.

But my chips really were incredibly good.

And so we come to dessert. This chocolate mousse's reputation precedes it. It was described as Jay Rayner as 'the best three minutes you can have in London for under a fiver.' I'm inclined to agree with him. This mousse was a voluptuous, full-bodied minx, delicately powdered with the finest cocoa and swelling seductively as it was scooped from a mixing bowl directly on to our plates at the table. Chocolate and cream: the most wanton and base of desserts. Mindless, pure pleasure - in fact, I'm unable to even fully remember the sensation of consuming it. Oh, for an hour with that mixing bowl. 

Just do me a favour and go and have that mousse. 

I was taken with Petit Pois from the start and my love failed to wane over the course of the evening - if anything, I'm more infatuated looking back at the meal, a month on. Everything was simple, yet technically impressive and clearly crafted with love. I'm getting smutty with the superlatives, perhaps, but I have to say it: this was surely up there with my best meals of the year. And B didn't faint at the sight of the bill! This is that rarity in London: good food at a reasonable price. B lives around the corner from here now, so I'll find it difficult not to come back for that sinful mousse, a.k.a. seven minutes in heaven (a game for big girls and boys, children...) perhaps followed by a drink at Happiness Forgets in the basement this time.

So I had the happiest of birthdays, from start to finish! B and I made the hour trek back to my parents' place after dinner, where I was surrounded by family, presents, cards and yet more birthday cake (this time, an exotic rose-scented confection from Pierre Hermé - thanks papa!) I had a lovely time, and felt that I was exactly where I wanted to be. Thank you so much, my loved ones, for making sure that I had the most wonderful day. 

Petit Pois Bistro

9 Hoxton Square

London N1 6NU

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