My name is Vicki and I’m a Londonaholic. It started as a young girl with our annual family trip in my Dad’s burgundy Rover but as I’ve gotten older, it’s become far more severe. Now, 3, 4 even 5 visits a year aren’t enough; just when I think I’ve had my fill, the urge is there again and before I know it, I’m on the Virgin Rail website scoring us a cheap deal for a couple of front facing seats. I love the way I feel when I’m there, I adore escaping among the tall buildings, as I breathe in the buzz of the city. Within this frantic habitat, I find peace.
So it was no surprise when our first visit of the year was within its first week. I’d had my eye on the newest Hawksmoor venture, Foxlow for a while and after veteran food critic Richard Vines stamped it boldly with his seal of approval, I booked us in for lunch.
What did the fox say?
Any restaurant in which I can have ribs as a main and a starter, can never fail in my eyes (exception = Frankie & Benny’s) so I’m just going to get straight to the point and admit that I adored Foxlow.
The cocktails I enjoyed on the day arrived surprisingly quickly yet their speed did not detract from their quality, my favourite being the sharp and eye squinty Pickle Buck, concocted from rye, ginger ale and pickle juice; a flavour sensation that could awaken even the deadest of taste buds and as a result, I am almost certain could be a cure for the zombie virus.
Rockefeller Fizz (£5)
Meat is treated lovingly. I know this as we were seated by the open kitchen – big slabs were often removed during our visit and basted with a tender hand and brush leading to fall apart, juicy mouthfuls of pure brawny heaven. So very tender, like consuming the best protein shakes ever.
Five Pepper Squid (£7)
Iberico Pork Rib (£8.50)
Eight Hour Bacon Rib with Maple & Chilli (£16)
Ten Hour Beef Shortrib with Kimchi (£16)
Sides have always been a strength at any Hawksmoor gaff and Foxlow continue this trend. The sausage stuffed onion was incredibly good – sat in a pot of onion and sausage gravy which we were informed was so tasty because of the lashings of cream it contained. This could stand as a main dish in its own right.
Sausage-Stuffed Onion (£3.50)
Broccoli with Chilli & Anchovy (£4.50)
Fries with Bacon Salt (£3.50)
I couldn’t resist the Peanutella & sweet toast (£5.50) and was glad I didn’t - the perfect mix of sweet and savoury and a great portion size to share for two people with very fatigued bellies.
Service was particularly good. Our handsome dreadlocked waiter excused our food scattered table by proclaiming ‘a messy table means you enjoyed your meal’ in soft hushed tones which made me fall in love with him a little bit. (Hey, handsome dreadlocked waiter, call me?)
James & The Giant Peach Tea (£7)
With sides it is a bit on the pricey side, but for the sheer amount of flavour they manage to pack into one meal, I feel it’s worth it.
Do you have a friend who has decimated their taste buds through smoking? Has a loved one recently turned into a zombie and you’re looking for a cure? Do you wish to meet a handsome dreadlocked waiter who doesn’t mind if you have poor table manners*? Well, I implore you to get down to Foxlow as it may just change your life.
*Hands off, he’s mine.
Nothing good ever happens to me on a train. Falling over, vomiting and being the victim of a teenage bully at least half my age are all unpleasant things I have experienced while travelling on our country’s railway lines, so when a friend asked if we would like to join them on the Real Ale Trail to Ramsbottom on a steam train, I was worried that my run of bad train luck might ruin the experience for everybody, as is so often the case.
I decided to prepare for the day by wearing so much pink that I resembled a five year old girl and/or a boiled sweet; my theory being that the Gods would probably like both of those things, and spare me any ill treatment during the trip. This however did not work as planned and we were pelted with furious rain and angry winds (did I mention I was dressed as a five year old girl on a Summer’s day?) so when we finally arrived at our lunch destination, Eagle & Child, after walking for ten minutes up a hill with a very aggressive angle, I also resembled the illicit love child of Aunt Sally and Worzel Gummage. Thankfully, the manager promised to seat us despite our lack of reservation and swiftly took our drinks order without asking me for any proof of age*. What a helpful chap he was!
Eagle & Child is a gorgeous pub with a warm atmosphere and quirky decoration which sets it aside from others. I instantly liked it.
We were in a bit of a rush so didn’t have time for a starter which always distresses me, but I was too worn out to have a temper tantrum so resorted to having a little cry in the toilets.
The fish & chips was the most popular choice amoung our group and it was as good as any I’ve sampled – the dish ticking all the necessary boxes required for it to be a success.
The turkey and ham pie was a bit of heaven in a pot -topped with the cheesiest of toppings, it warmed me up from the inside out.
The burger looked so good that I almost regretted my fish & chips decision and I was in such awe that I forgot to take a photograph.
Pig, slow cooked belly, sticky cheek + hock pie, bubble & squeak
Onion rings – I loved the different varieties of onions used, brilliant stuff.
Our food took a while to arrive although this was probably a bit more apparent to us as we were in such a hurry, but everyone was really helpful and pleasant.
I’m definitely going back to Eagle & Child, I’ve got my eye on that burger and their Sunday roast is award winning. But this time I will dress age/weather appropriately and be travelling by car. That climb means I’m saving up for a pacemaker. Any donations are welcome.
*I am more than old enough to drink alcohol. Despite what my wardrobe suggests.
Not being a morning person means that I rarely eat breakfast. As an insomniac I’m either under-rested and grumpy or as an enthusiastic boozer I’m hung over/still drunk. I’d much rather stay up late dancing to Katy Perry* then sleep till noon than be awake at the break of dawn eating cereal. To be honest, I’m not at my best in the morning. Nobody has ever used the word ‘zombie’ before but I can see in their eyes; the mild terror shows itself for a moment before the realisation hits that I am a harmless, yet slightly messy haired civilian. At this point I’m normally handed a cup of coffee and a hair brush.
The only time I get excited about a morning meal is in America. I’m normally jetlagged so it almost feels like lunch, there’s always lots of syrup covered bacon involved and I can blow bubbles into my chocolate milk without being labelled childish (Americans appreciate silly acts such as this).
I’ve had a no freebie rule for a while now, but when Franco, the evil mastermind behind Solita invited us down to try the brunch menu full of American grub, I didn’t hang about; after spending approximately 50% of my disposable income there over the last 18 months, I consider it cashback.
Word had clearly gotten around and the restaurant was rammed on only the menu’s second day. The place was so full that we were forced to be seated at one of the high tables in the main room perched awkwardly on a stool. Those stools are the only thing I don’t like about Solita; I haven’t fallen off one yet, but it is inevitable.
Here’s what we had:
Steak & Eggs Benedict (£6.90)
I loved this take on the traditional eggs benedict – the steak was cooked perfectly on the Inka grill and the hollandaise was great. I’ve loved capers since I accidentally ate one in a salad and so was mightily pleased by the generous sprinkling of this peculiar looking foodstuff.
Salt beef hash (£8.90)
Mr P’s favourite – it had the perfect ratio of beef to potato and the brown sauce was spicy and tart. He would have preferred a fried egg on top but I’m quite passionate about my love of a poached egg; bursting its spherical yolk is one of my favourite things.
Truffled egg on toast (£5.90)
We loved this dish at Spuntino and Solita have done a mighty fine job of it. Gooey cheese, runny egg yolk and truffle oil - if you don’t like this combo then you should lose your right to vote or make any important decisions in life. In fact you should go and sit in a dark room and cry. NOW!
Buttermilk fried chicken, sausage gravy, maple syrup (£7.90)
This is the kind of sweet/savoury mix that a lot of people don’t get, but once you’ve tried it your life will never be the same. The chicken was insanely moist yet with a lovely crunchy coating and the creamy sausage gravy was beautiful. This was my favourite dish of the day and I beg Solita to put this chicken on the evening menu. Chicken and chips all round.
Blood orange mimosa (£5)
Breakfast cocktails were invented for medicinal purposes to cure a hangover and for this we should all stop shunning pre-12pm booze. This was sweet yet tart and a good price too.
It’s no secret that I’m a massive Solita fan girl. I love them so much that I gained a dress size for them. Hell, I even got up early, and I never do that. But this menu is worth doing all of the above for. There’s a full English toad in the hole, a builder’s breakfast wrap… There really is something for everybody.
Manchester, brunch just became a whole load of awesome.
*I’m far too cool to listen to Katy Perry, I’ve been hacked!
Spinningfields isn’t an area of Manchester that I often venture to and when I do it’s The Oast House with its hanging kebabs of Babylon which exclusively receives my custom. However, with the numerous January 50% off deals, I decided to do something crazy and try somewhere new (give me a break, I fear change.) I’ve not been in too much of a hurry to try fellow Living Ventures venue Artisan due to a number of wildly differing reviews but after having a peek at the menu, I thought it seemed quite inviting.
My friend and I arrived on a busy Thursday evening and had to wait a while for our table to clear. I found the hostess very intimidating but that may be because she was so beautiful, she could only be a baddy from a film. Fleeing this evil temptress* we perched ourselves at the bar and ordered a cocktail. I didn’t have high hopes for our drinks as I watched the bartender shake the mixer with the enthusiasm of a depressed teen, but they were tasty and refreshing, even if they disappeared in approximately two mouthfuls.
Artisan is quite far from my natural habitat: the lights are dim, bar stools uncomfortable and everybody there is so bloody tall which reminded me how angry I am about not being taller (or a baller.)
The menu is diverse – from pizzas and pastas to salads and sandwiches. Some might call it a little muddled but I always welcome a decent choice.
To begin, my companion had the meatballs in tomato sauce (£5.95) – she found the sauce a bit artificial tasting, but I thought it was lovely and presented beautifully with the nice touch of a big slab of bread for dipping.
The only problem I had with the dish was that it made mine look so underwhelming. Baby scallops with curry butter and cauliflower puree (£6.95) had wonderful flavours but it had gone a bit cold and seemed such a measly portion compared to the meatballs. I felt like a child on Christmas day who had received only a chocolate orange when their sibling had been gifted a mountain bike (on second thoughts, I’d prefer the chocolate orange, will somebody get me one?)
For mains, my friend had the famous donner kebab pizza which I enjoyed so much I pinched a second slice off her. It was rather messy looking but the base was thin and crisp and I loved the toppings – by far the best dish of the meal.
Yet again, my choice was the inferior of the two and I was starting to get a complex. The pulled pork sandwich (£10.75) was fairly terrible – falling apart pretty instantly into a sloppy mess and let’s be honest; it didn’t look that great to start off with. The chips however had a certain dirtiness to them that I enjoyed.
Baby gem wedges with salad cream and prosciutto crumble (£3.50) was a lovely little side dish- the dressing was tart and zingy and the textures, spot on.
The staff were very good, but frequently trying to upsell which always gets on my nerves. Plus we had to query our bill as the 50% hadn’t been taken off which I found more annoying than usual because I was still quite hungry (you wouldn’t like me when I’m hungry).
Artisan isn’t for me I’m afraid. It has a similar vibe to Neighbourhood and seems more interested in being on trend than serving consistently good food. The dishes were too hit and miss to warrant a return visit and I would really begrudge paying full price for my meal. Which, we almost did. The scoundrels.
*I’m sure the hostess wasn’t evil. But she had a twinkle in her eye that could only mean trouble. Lock up your sons.
Copying other people has never worked out well for me in the past. My 80s Annabel Croft perm saw me labelled ‘Medusa Ratbag’ by my primary school class mates and copying my friend’s maths homework in year 9 lead to a severe scolding along with a dose of public humiliation which left my cheeks aflush for a matter of weeks after*.
Despite the above I have not learned my lesson and am 100% copying Manchester blogger master general Hungry Hoss by writing a post of my forgotten restaurants of 2013. Let the consequences commence…
Almost Famous, Deansgate
Most of my friends are not AF fans and after my experience at the original den in The Northern Quarter, I wasn’t convinced either. But with the new branch opening I got all caught up in the excitement and dragged along my friend with the promise we were being all ironic. Unfortunately, our estimated 45 minute wait soon became 75 minutes and we eventually left without eating. We enjoyed the cocktails which are good fun and the staff were very friendly - I liked the space and it’s certainly befitting with the general ethos of the brand, but I fear I may never convince anybody else to accompany me, so I’m left observing their burgers from afar.
Simon Rimmer annoyed the hell out of me with the chauvinistic naming of his book ‘Men love pies, women like hummus.’ What is that all about?! Well I’m going to make a hummus filled pie, eat half of it and then chuck the other half at his head. I bet he won’t love that pie…
Ignoring this poor judgment, I really enjoyed his Hale restaurant. - the food was great and our pretty waitress called me ‘hun’ giving the impression that she liked me and therefore making me feel popular for 90 minutes.
Our second visit to the Mayfair steak restaurant didn’t live up to previous expectations. Steaks were wonderful but sides had gone a bit cold and our previous favourite dishes (lobster mac & cheese and banana split) were cruelly absent from the menu. Service on the other hand was exemplary.
The Breakfast Club, Hoxton
This quirky little joint caught my eye initially due to the massive queue outside, but when we visited the Hoxton venue on a Monday morning we were seated right away. French toast with bananas and bacon was a winning dish and the coffee was of ‘I want a second cup’ quality. They had me at ‘we’ve got an arcade machine playing Paper Boy.’
Afternoon Tea at The Midland Hotel
This was a birthday present for my Mum and although a lovely experience, she felt it could be a bit grander (told you she was fussy!) The lack of cream cakes brought on a bit of a Mum sulk but we enjoyed the sandwiches and the champagne was delicious.
The Blue Bicycle, York
Our York favourite J Bakers had closed down and vanished without a trace (or notification of our cancelled reservation, pfft) so we were left to find an alternative. What a great choice The Blue Bicycle was -food far fancier than the humble Parisian surroundings and warm, endearing service. My salmon with lobster sauce still visits me in my dreams and the lemon meringue pie was cheeky and fun. The meal was slightly marred however by a pesky discretionary 12.5% service charge which we were informed goes straight to the owners of the restaurant. We asked for this to be removed and gave the money to the waitress instead. What a baffling surcharge.
So there you have it. I have been a lazy, lazy blogger. I can’t promise to do any better this year as I am rather sloth like in my approach to life. Eat, sleep, smile (and drink bubbles)
Me in sloth form
*Do not cheat in school kids, teachers are clever and enjoy humiliating children.
I know everyone hates food bloggers but I think the Manchester lot are a good bunch. Always there for a recommendation or an enthusiastic chat about food, I consider most of them my friends. When I saw fellow Bolton resident North West Nosh posting photos of bone marrow on her twitter feed, she got my attention immediately. Bone marrow is the Channing Tatum of food. Photos of it make my forehead sweat as I fix my gaze upon it, drool slowly sliding down my face as I gurgle seductively (gurgling’s sexy, right?).
The bone marrow in question was the product of brand new restaurant Superstore in the Northern Quarter of Manchester; the new venture by the folks behind The Banyan Tree. I took my slim friend along with me in the hope that with her demure appetite she would not be able to finish her food, so I could polish it off for her. The prospect of resembling the Hardy to her Laurel was worth it, for the possibility of extra food.
As I opened the door of the new establishment and proceeded up the stairs, I was hit by a strong sense of déjà vu and the unmistakable urge to buy some cornflakes. I had been here before and I was certain it was a shop. Gone were the stacks of food and cigarette stand and in its place was an open kitchen and friendly waiting staff with a grocers downstairs.
It was still advent during our visit and the restaurant festively decorated. We took in the atmosphere and turned to the menu, ordering cocktails while we read.
Regular & spiced mojitos
Superstore offer five plates for a bargainous £20, which seemed too good to pass up, but as we also had our eye on a couple of bigger plates, we decided to share this deal as a starter.
The best of the bunch was of course, my love, the bone marrow. Garlicky and gooey, it was a triumph. My companion was initially unsure of this favourite foodstuff of mine, but this soon converted her.
We also enjoyed the crispy fried squid which was cooked really well, accompanied by a delicious and zingy lemon and turmeric aioli.
Ginger battered king prawns were enormous and juicy. I especially liked the sweet chilli sauce dip which they were served with.
Tuna ceviche was light and delicate, however served in long strips - I would have preferred it to be prepared in a daintier way, but I may be nit-picking.
Black pudding was rich and dense, topped with a perfectly runny egg. A very tasty dish but a little on the heavy side compared with the other offerings.
This is a great value menu, but at this point we were both already full. However it was the season to be jolly and people are statistically more likely to be happy with a big belly, so we soldiered on for St Nick.
The tempura battered cod had asked Santa for sunbed vouchers for Christmas as the poor chap and fellow chips were in desperate need of a bit of colour. Still enjoyable however and I loved the wasabi peas and chilli tartare sauce.
My companion ordered the lamb burger, which was not as impressive as The Banyan Tree’s version, but she didn’t seem to mind.
Service had a few issues, but as the restaurant was in its infancy, I’m not too bothered about that. More importantly all the staff were attentive and really interested in our feedback.
Superstore is a cracking addition to the Northern Quarter dining scene, with great cocktails and an interesting menu. Just don’t stare at the weird lady scoffing down bone marrow, that’ll probably be me.
What do you do if you’re in London with your fussy eater mother and it’s lunch time – the growl in your belly becoming audible over any conversation, traffic noise or nearby mugging? I’ll tell you what: you drop her off in a pub with tennis on its big screen, supply her with a BLT and large glass of chardonnay and toddle off in search of tastier fare. Even better, you leave her in a pub supplying all of the above that is just around the corner from Meat Mission. My plan couldn’t have worked out better if it was written by Kurt Sutter and carried out by Jacks and his motor cycle crew in TV programme Sons of Anarchy (perhaps I should concoct evil plans more in the future?)
Meat Mission is the more sensible sibling of burger big hitter, Meat Liquor in that you can make a reservation (hurrah!) and there’s no atmospheric red lighting that makes your food photographs look all sinister. It’s in Shoreditch, just down the road from said tennis showing pub (The Music Hall) and conveniently minutes from our hotel of choice The Hoxton.
There’s an ecclesiastic theme to the restaurant which should have frightened me, but the addition of owls and (my second favourite animal) penguins in the stained glass decoration made me fall in love. So much so that I considered getting divorced, just so I could get remarried in this cool and quirky burger den.
To drink I had the house grog cocktail, of which there is a limit of two per person. I happily sipped my Umbongo for adults as the chaps made their way through the beer list.
The format is the same as its big brother and food is served on platters.
The chaps had the bingo wings (£6.50) with the all essential crisp skin slathered in a sweet yet spicy pepper sauce.
I had the boneless version, the monkey fingers (£7.50) which although very tasty they had been allowed to go cold. The name however is particularly apt and I did get the urge to use one of these boneless chicken bites as an extra appendage, running around threatening and frightening small children with it. I would become the stuff of legends; generations to come would warn their young relatives ‘don’t say monkey fingers in the mirror three times, for she will appear and tickle you until your brains fall out*.’
Meat Liquor/Mission make my favourite blue cheese dip. It is so sharp one cannot not help impersonate Rene Zellweger during its consumption.
Burgers were sensational. Juicy, succulent and full of flavour.
Bacon cheeseburger (£8.50)
Dead hippy (£8.50)
Hippy fries (£5.50)
I cannot get enough of these burgers. They make me want to enter a burger eating competition of which I would not even try to win, but would enjoy taking part (my Mum says that’s all that matters, but that could be because I’ve spent my life not winning anything).
I enjoyed Meat Mission just as much as Meat Liquor. The quality of meat is undeniable, consistency reliable and atmosphere lively (I couldn’t think of anything relevant that ended in iable.) It’s great value for money and the lack of queue makes this a no brainer. Just remember, you will end up with no brains if you say ‘monkey fingers’ in the mirror three times (I forgot I just made that up).
Please note: my mother was left accompanied by my Uncle. This was not a cruel act of desertion, she was very happy with her tennis, BLT and glass of chardonnay.
*I would never tickle children. I don’t like them.
Is it over? Can I come out yet? Phew. What a year 2013 was: far kinder to me than my annus horribilis of 2012 (runner up goes to its slightly less evil twin, 2008) but still rather hectic. I spent the last 6 of its months nursing my grumpy cat away from death’s door, experienced work place drama which rivalled an episode of (greatest soap of all time) Sunset Beach and let us not forget the time I was bitten by a crazed dog, leading to an infected wound and dose of anti-biotics which induced an allergic reaction so nasty, I looked like the love child of Hell Boy and Mystique from The X Men, causing children and women of a nervous position to run screaming away from me in the street.
Don’t worry, she’s not dead. Just snoozing.
The horrible creature in question is Alfie the Golden Retriever, the newest addition to the home of my childhood. Alfie is the doggy embodiment of Buddy the Elf – he doesn’t know Santa but his joy for life is so contagious that you can’t help but giggle yourself silly when he’s around. Just don’t let him near your socks. Or get your hand in the way when he’s chewing a bone.
No matter what is going on in my life, there is always food. Food for me is how I share my life with others; I rarely eat on my own and for this reason perhaps I should continue my life as a hermit in order to facilitate weight loss. I just don’t see the point in food unless I have somebody there to share it with.
I’ve been lucky to eat some incredible grub in the last year. Here are my Top 5 favourites.
I couldn’t not mention the best restaurant in Manchester. Cruelly overlooked by Michelin (everybody give Michelin the Vs please?) but they’re a bunch of old bores. It’s a very special place which hosts a venison dish and cheese course that are worthy of any of the best restaurants in the world.
It seems like a million years ago since we visited the ‘best restaurant in the world’ and it was indeed a world class experience. In hindsight the service lacked warmth but the inclusion of a crispy prawn head on the menu has made me obsessed with this foodstuff. I want to go stomping around the sea, ripping prawn heads from their bodies with my teeth; however, I’m not the strongest swimmer so I have to resort to splashing around in a paddling pool eating pink shrimp toffees.
Our fourth visit and the best yet. Not for those suffering from restless leg syndrome – we enjoyed a world class four hour epic gastronomic feast (review to follow).
Not your average curry house - kormas and chicken tikka madras are replaced with goat keema and pig cheek vindaloo. Angina sufferers approach with caution, there’s some deep heat going on there, but all with beautiful flavours to match. Brilliant reviews have made this a hard to bag reservation but I urge anybody to try. Perhaps fake an illness or a family death to get a mid-week lunch.
Very much like Highlander, there can be only one. Don’t worry, head chefs aren’t going around chopping other head chef’s heads off (overusing a word is funny, yes?) but it would take something equally as extraordinary to beat Alinea. Grass corridors, edible balloons and waiters so handsome they pose a real danger to the institute of marriage. A mind blowing spectacle that has you laughing, swearing and crying (when the waiters run off with your wife*) all at the same time. Perfect in every way.
And so at the beginning of 2014 I am filled with hope and enthusiasm like my new friend Alfie. My new year’s resolution is to focus on the positive things in life and ignore the negative aspects of which I can’t change. That and cutting down on alcohol consumption. A little bit. Maybe just a tad. Sod it, somebody pass me a glass of bubbles!
Happy New Year to you all!
*I have no evidence that the waiters at Alinea run off with wives. But be on your guard.
Having a blog means that people are always asking my opinions on where to eat, but every so often I am given tips myself. After The Indian Tiffin Room’s third recommendation, I thought it rude not to pay a visit. Only a few months old, it’s already got quite the reputation (a good one of course, I’m not suggesting anything illicit.) The problem? It would mean tackling my arch enemy, the M60. What a vile circle of doom that motorway is. It is the home of the smelliest of sewage works, The Trafford Centre (equally as potent) and every single time I venture onto its murky roads, there is bound to be a traffic jam. The day we headed off to Cheadle was no different, as my curse hit yet again and it took us an hour to travel the mere 20 miles. By the time we arrived we were 15 minutes late for our reservation (booking is recommended) and I was so very cross that I wanted to strike that least favourite road of mine with a spanner. However, I had no spanner and I’d been so busy stressing out about missing our time slot that I had very little energy left for such an act of aggression. But mark my words M60, I’ll be back. And I’m bringing a spanner.
For once luck was on our side and they were not fully booked that night (as I hear they so often are) and our tardiness was accommodated. It’s a tiny little, modern Indian place with a bar so small I think I could make my way through its contents in one session. The tables are rather close together which is a bit of a pain if (like me) you wear three petticoats and therefore have a circumference similar to that of a medium/large Christmas tree (just me, then?)
The menu wasn’t explained to us (as it was to surrounding tables), but we got the general gist that it is made up of smaller, tapas-like dishes and larger curries. With everything sounding so appealing, we put our heads together and shared.
Served in an Indo-Chinese way, the chicken was sticky with a nice heat and beautiful Oriental flavours.
Chicken marinated in almonds and milk leading to a succulent, tender meat with a delicious char on the exterior.
A thin, crisp rice and lentil crepe, stuffed with a spicy potato filling and variety of dips. I found this quite heavily under seasoned but it was Mr P’s favourite of the starters.
Slow cooked lamb, lovingly spiced.
Keralan Fish Curry
My favourite of the two curries, this contained a decent amount of heat yet still remained creamy at the same time.
I was full up at this point but Mr P ordered some Rasmalai to finish off the meal. This is not a dish I’ve enjoyed in the past, however this had a firmer texture than I’m used to, meaning my gag reflex remained happily undisturbed. The creamy saffron sauce was sweet and plentiful, the scattering of pistachios prettily finishing it off.
I can totally understand the fuss around The Indian Tiffin Room – the food is of exceptional value and everything we tried was really bloody tasty. It was even worth tackling the evil of the M60, to whom I assure, you may have won the battle, but I will win the war. Me and my spanner.