Review: Drake’s, Ripley

Ripley is one of the amiably well-to-do villages of Surrey, surrounded by farmland and replete with boutique homeware shops, cosy deli/cafes and red-brick dining pubs. Yet even though Surrey is the most cushy and well-to-do county in all of Englandshire, for the longest time

there was a desert of good places to eat twixt the Thames and the Downs. Drake’s has been in Ripley a few years now, and is definitely an oasis of fine dining.

Some have criticised the ambience at Drake’s, but as we were a table of seven for lunch we rather brought our own ambience with us, making it hard to comment objectively. The dining room is light and airy, with exposed beams and minimal decoration. I liked it. Our little corner had a feature wall with moo-cow wallpaper. Service was friendly and courteous.

The lunchtime tasting menu is reasonably good value at £45. Frankly I might have paid that to sit there and stuff myself with the scrumptious bite-sized roast red pepper brioches that were one of the breads. I could have too; the more of them we ate, the more they brought out. The amuse was a little biscuit of curry meringue with a dollop of chicken liver parfait atop. I am always delighted when I get given something that is both delicious and entirely new to me and this scored on both counts.

First course was a little beignet of onion with crab apple puree, delicious although the almost fluid texture of the onion was a tad unexpected inside the crispy crumb. This was followed a scallop with

chorizo and sweet potato, all very neat and perfectly executed albeit hardly stirring the blood. The fish course was a tasty little piece of turbot with a trio of roast beetroot and fennel, best described as “nice” and not really the strongest course. Beetroot is always going to be earthy, making it a difficult partner in a dish that was otherwise all about subtlety. At this stage I was starting to think we’d fallen into into a fairly humdrum tasting menu, so it was a pleasure to find our main course much braver. A slow-cooked piece of beef was made bitter with the addition of coffee and then paired with sweet carrots and orange. An interesting and genuinely successful attempt to freshen up what is usually cosy fireside meat, the meal felt back on track.

Pre-dessert: beetroot and orange milkshake. This was a lovely palate-cleanser, an appropriate use of beetroot in a sweet situation, and very thoughtful to bring together two ingredients that had featured in earlier dishes. Dessert was a light and moreish pistachio cake topped

with slivers of caramelised banana and paired with a black olive ice cream. This was a stunner, and the only truly successful use of olives in dessert that I’ve ever found. The bits of olive were somehow crystallised and/or roasted; crunchy, chewy and sweet but retaining a pronounced olive taste. Yum.

I’d be remiss in not mentioning the best set of petit fours I’ve had in a long while. Granted, it helped that I wasn’t exactly stuffed; portions at Drake’s are small, so at the end of the meal I was content rather than full. Nothing spoils petit fours more than having to make a dutiful attempt to wedge them in like the last few items into an already bursting suitcase. Nevertheless, these were delicious and with oddities like a red pepper macaroon Steve Drake is clearly keen to break out from the obvious right to the very end.

Drake’s is good. Our meal was faultless in execution and scattered with enough challenging combinations and surprising successes that it sits comfortably above the more predictable tasting menus. I’d say this makes it worth the less than bargain lunchtime price, although the same menu is only ten pounds more in the evening. Certainly worth dragging yourself out of the metropolis and down the A3 for.

Review: Dinner, Knightsbridge

We came to Dinner for dinner. It would be strange to have lunch at Dinner, and indeed the dark

and urbane dining room doesn’t really strike me as a daytime venue. So muted is the lighting that at first I thought every other diner was wearing black, white or grey in obedience to an unwritten dress code that we hadn’t been told about. This is a good atmosphere, though, classy yet convivial, with the arresting use of big white jelly moulds as lampshades to remind us that we’re in the hands of a playful chef. Behind the plate glass that reveals the busy team of young chefs there are a dozen whole pineapples turning on a spit before a crackling fire. This whimsical centrepiece is excusable as chunks of the pineapple are used in one of the desserts. And in the same way these crummy photos are excused by the moody lighting!

Let’s get down to business. And the business is dinner. Starter, main and pud. None of your fancy amuses bouche or pre-dessert, just three courses and all of them a proper size. This is clearly part of the theme; the whole menu is inspired by dishes found in cookbooks dating back from Victorian to medieval times, resulting in menu items like

“meat fruit” and “rice and flesh”. Three courses, decent portions, also all very traditional.

My starter was a lamb broth, poured over a dice of veg, slow-cooked hen’s yolk and three pieces of breaded sweetbread. These unfortunately were too small for the sweetbread to overcome the fried breadcrumb coating, but the broth was strong and clear-as-a-bell. “Rice and flesh” turns out to be a punchy saffron risotto with fragments of calf tail cooked until gooey in red wine. Snails lined up on marrow taste deeply delicious. “Meat fruit” looks like a mandarin but is chicken

parfait wrapped in a mandarin jelly, a brilliant caprice which is also a great flavour pairing.

Next course, and Dinner turns out to be well named, because the mains are the strongest courses. And really, it is so seldom I find myself saying so that it’s worth pointing out. Pork chop, duck breast, pigeon breast, steak, I think that right around the table we all muttered phrases like “must be the best ever…” or “can’t remember the last time…” between greedy mouthfuls. For me, my pork chop was the clearest connection between Dinner and the Fat Duck. These restaurants are worlds apart in style and substance, but they share in

spades Heston’s alchemical ability to condense and concentrate the very essence of a flavour into itself. This was without doubt the porkiest pork chop I have ever enjoyed.

Desserts were good, but we had definitely peaked with the mains. I chose rhubarb, which I always do when it’s in season, and then I always wonder why because fine dining rhubarb desserts consistently fail to excite me. Dammit. Around the table there was a great lemon suet pudding, a hefty sticky cake cooked in boozy sauce and a layered chocolate tablet that was pure elegance.

Service was spot on, with all of the friendly waiters keenly knowledgeable about the provenance and creation of the dishes without appearing schooled or forced. The sommelier was helpful

and we enjoyed a great American cabernet franc with stickies to follow. The wine list is long, but the vast majority of the wines run to 3 or 4 digits. With the exception of a house wine there’s nothing under fifty. Accordingly, our celebratory meal at Dinner was about £120 per head all-in.

Dinner is a million miles from The Fat Duck. Someone posed the question: of the two, which would you come back to? We all agreed that it would be Dinner. The Fat Duck is “once in a lifetime”, and that’s both a good thing and a bad thing. It truly is dinner-theatre, and even with the best plays I seldom want to see the same production twice. Dinner is just a really great restaurant. Hardly cheap, but with Heston’s marvellous attention to flavour running through every dish it’s well worth it.

Singapore black pepper crab

The black pepper crab we had in Singapore was hands-down our favourite dinner in an entire year of travel around the world. So perhaps no surprise that when I asked Maureen what she’d like me to cook for a

Valentine’s supper it was Singapore black pepper crab. I’d do anything for my lady on Valentine’s Day! Well, and on any other day of the year of course.

Living in Ludlow, about as far from the sea as you can get in England, sourcing the crab was a bit of a challenge. We do have a great little fishmonger in town, but they’re only open Weds-Sat and St Valentine died on Tuesday this year. Fortunately there are a couple of great Cornish fishmongers who will mail order a crab to your door.

Of course, to be properly authentic it would have to be a live crab, which I would then kill and deep fry on the night. However, in the first place I’m likely to burn the house down trying to deep fry anything quite that huge, and in the second place I just knew that if a live crab arrived in the house it would end up with us naming it and then it’d be impossible to dispatch. We’d end up filling the bath with salt water and keeping it as a pet. We would, trust me. So I went with a cooked crab, and the result was virtually identical to our Singapore feast. The crab was just huge. Huge. Major kudos to Wing of St Mawes in Cornwall for supplying such a delicious monster.

Wow. This was wickedly good eats, complete with filthy fingers and stuff all over the table. It’s not for the faint-hearted, there’s a bucketload of spice in here and yet somehow the crab is still awesome.

For the record, I accompanied it with a bowl of Som Tam, the ubiquitous spicy Thai salad made with green papaya. And let me tell you, green papaya is even harder to source than fresh crab – as a fellow blogger discovered. This is especially true in Ludlow. A search

on yell.com for the nearest oriental grocer suggested either Birmingham or Bristol. Useful. Eventually ordered it online. Expensive.

Pudding was a simple and rich pannacotta, but to try and keep a theme I flavoured it with two pinches of saffron instead of vanilla, and then added a blood orange coulis on top. Visually the bright yellow cream and the scarlet coulis looked stunning, but I’m not happy enough with the combination to offer it as a recipe; I think saffron needs a different kind of accompaniment in the pannacotta situation.

Singapore black pepper crab (serves 2)

1 big cooked crab (1kg+)
2-3 tbsp butter
2 shallots, finely chopped
5 cloves garlic, finely chopped
1 inch piece ginger, finely chopped
2 tbsp black peppercorns, coarse ground
5 birds-eye Thai chillies
1 tbsp dark soy sauce
2 tbsp oyster sauce
1 tbsp palm sugar
Mint leaves
  1. Dry fry the black pepper until its fragrance fills the kitchen, then set to one side
  2. Attack the crab! Take the legs and claws off, crack them so the sauce can get in. Chop the main shell in half, then take out the dead man’s fingers. Set aside all your bits of crab.
  3. Heat your biggest pan, get the butter in and melt it until sizzling
  4. Add the garlic, shallot and ginger, then stir-fry these at a moderate heat for a few minutes until fragrant.
  5. Now add the black pepper, chillies, soy sauce, oyster sauce and palm sugar. Cook for a couple of minutes
  6. Add the crab to the pan and move it around, coating with sauce. Keep it going for a few minutes, until the crab is heated through and well coated.
  7. Serve with mint leaves scattered over. That’s it! Eating it is much harder than cooking it…

Personally, I can’t wait to make this all over again!

Review: The Mole Inn, Toot Baldon

Living in Ludlow, I often find myself rolling up and down the M40 to the metropolis. So it’s useful to know a few good eats not too far from the motorway, to break up a tedious drive with a nice lunch or supper. One such spot is The Crabmill at Preston Bagot. It’s the absolute epitome of a dining pub; warm and cosy, food with punchy flavours, great value, silly village name, and in no way a pub.

The Mole Inn at Toot Baldon in Oxfordshire is cut from pretty much the same block, sharing more than just a silly village name. If someone ever wanted to put together a catalogue of classy dining pub fittings,

furniture and decoration then they could just come here for a photo-shoot and leave happy. Yes, it’s formulaic, but The Mole is at least a very good example of the species with some nice touches like the ancient fragments of carved wood panelling hung as wall décor.

Similar with the food: exactly what I’d expect of a dining pub, but some jolly good specimens for all that. My starter of devilled kidneys was delicious, piping hot and with roasted garlic cloves adding a chewy sweet hit alongside the deep, spicy, meaty sauce. The kidneys were cooked just right. Oddly, it looked as though Maureen’s starter had been given my toast. Her three enormous balls of breaded goat cheese certainly didn’t need the artfully balanced slice of toasted

sourdough, and my devilled sauce most certainly did. So I stole it. And lived to tell the tale!

For the record, the goat cheese was too dry and crumbly to be truly a pleasure in such large quantity. The beetroot and onion relish beneath was delicious, and the whole nicely presented, but this was a textbook case for less being more: smaller balls with a finer breadcrumb would have made a better starter.

My main was a slippery piece of haddock perched on minted curly kale, a surprising and delicious combination. It came with a pot of smoked haddocky mash, also lovely and full of gunky goodness. Maureen’s mixed fish grill was good, contrasting red snapper, haddock, salmon.

The prawns seemed a bit of a poorly afterthought. Good chips.

We finished up with a STP. It would be a bit much to say that a dining pub can be judged on it’s sticky toffee pudding, but they are as ubiquitous on the menu as green curry at a Thai and so (oh, very reluctantly) we usually order one. This one was sluiced in dark toffee sauce with a pronounced black treacle taste, though the pudding itself was a bit dry and dense. Not a bad STP, but not a memorable one.

The Mole Inn, then. It’s a good place to know if you want a comfy meal in pleasant surroundings and you’re anywhere near Oxford. I think the Bib Gourmand is well earned, and I like it. Can’t bring myself to rave about it though.

Review: Pizza Rustica

Richmond is not cool. Richmond is arguably (by me at least) the best all-round place to live within the M25, with splendid green spaces all around, superb transport links into the city or out to the country, theatre, shopping, cinema, and good eating. But the avant garde have always made the possibly valid assumption that Richmond is conservative rather than cool, and so the town never sees anything new to eat, drink or buy until it’s already safely mainstream. In spite of the fact that a two bedroom flat on Richmond Hill will buy you a ten bedroom mansion in Dorset, the best place to eat in town is La

Buvette, a cracking but staunchly traditional French bistro.

Equally traditional and equally good is the tiny Pizza Rustica, sandwiched so tightly among the shops on the high street that you might blink and miss it. But it’s not unheard of to find yourself wandering Richmond on a Friday night and wondering what to feed on, so this little patch of Italy is worth knowing about.

This evening I had their absolutely signature pizza, the “2007”. They cook the pizza base with nothing more than good cheese on top, then add piles of rocket, parma ham, marinated tomato and shaved parmesan. I can’t eat this pizza without grinning cheerfully. The base is thin and crisp, with a good taste of roasted flour. The ham and cheese add plenty of salt, the tomato a bit of necessary juiciness and the rocket a great balancing bitter greenness.

Maureen went for the “Buffalo”, where again the pizza base is cooked with nothing more than a good garlicky tomato sauce, and a combination of parma ham, basil leaves and fresh buffalo mozzarella is added afterwards. Triumph of Italian flavour, as simple as that. We swallowed these with a couple of perfectly decent glasses of Italian white wine, and then went to the cinema.

You should too.

It doesn’t stop at pizza, though. You can have a Foodie Day Out in Richmond if you know where to look. Among its traditional and unadventurous bounds, picturesque riverside, panoramic parkland and John Lewis-stuffed homes you can find some of the best pizza, chocolate, ice cream and cheese anywhere in the country. Get stuffed.