After reading Fay Maschler's surprisngly flattering review of Dabbous, I was pretty sure I wanted to give the restaurant a try- after all, how often does the notoriously, shall we say 'observant' Ms Maschler give restaurants five stars out of five? It was only after perusing the menu online (nothing like bit of menu porn on a quiet afternoon), that I declared that I absolutely must visit. I'm almost ashamed to say it, but it was the prices that swung it. £24 for four-course set lunch menu. In central London. In a restaurant helmed by an alumnus of The Fat Duck, Noma and NYC's wd-50 (Ollie Dabbous, since you asked). Done deal.
The restaurant was only a month or so old at the time of booking and perhaps two months old when I visited. Securing a table on the day I wanted, at the time I wanted was pretty easy and straightforward, so imagine my surprise (and glee) when, after visiting, I attempted to book another table, only to find that there were none on the day I wanted for close to three months! Things like this make me happy. Not only because I am always pleased to see a young talented chef doing well in a competitive market such as London, but also because, well, I got there first (cue huge raspberry noise). Very mature.
So what was all the fuss about?
Well the room itself as been described a tinny, empty, noisy, echoey. I didn't find any of these to be particularly true on the day I visited (a Saturday afternoon). The room is a mixture of grey and charcoals, with raw concrete, lots of metal thrown about, and the odd exposed duct for good measure. Not especially warm, but not cold either. Perhaps I was charmed by the staff, who, I have to say were exceptionally pleasant. Like "is there something on my face" pleasant (there wasn't). I expected a bit of pomp. I was disappointed (in a good way).
As I waited for my companion, I pretended to peruse the menu. I don't know why, as I'd studied it IN DEPTH in the days leading up to my visit, because that's how sad I am. But, as I said before, nothing like a bit of menu porn...even in public.
So here's the breakdown. There's the set lunch menu (above) where diners have a choice of three or four courses (@ £21 or £24), with two options for each. Dishes are described as 'small', so we decided it was best to go for the four courses. At an extra £3, it made sense.
As I embarrassingly salivated over the 'small plates' (they weren't that small) being delivered to my fellow diners, my appetite was whetted with a small bowl of plump olives and the most beautifully presented fresh, warm bread which came in a brown bag, stamped with the date and a side dish of soft butter which could put Echire to shame.
Nothing like freshly baked bread. The smell which wafted out of the bag as I opened it is indescribable.
Following Ms Maschler's lead, I started with the salad of fennel, lemon balm and pickled rose petals:
Can a salad be life-changing? Because I feel like a new woman. Seriously. Pickled rose?! Who knew! I'm not usually a fan of fennel, but here paired with the exceptional dressing and the subtle lemon balm, it was gorgeous. I'm not sure what the salad leaf used was but it gave good crunch and the sweetness of the pickled rose levelled out the sometimes pleasant, sometimes not, bitterness that you can get with salad leaves. It was a small salad, but the portion was perfect. I didn't feel cheated (though I did want more).
My companion had celeriac with muscat grapes, lovage and hazelnuts:
I didn't get any (cuts eyes)...
Next up was grilled monkfish cheeks with virgin rapeseed oil mayonnaise and Jerusalem artichoke.
That mayo was sexy. Too sexy.
Fleshy monkfish, a bit of unidentifiable black stuff- what else can a girl ask for? It was good but not as good as the salad. But in all fairness, it was a life-changing salad.
Seriously though. Sexy.
My friend had the confit organic Glenarm salmon with warm buttermilk and hispi cabbage. The word confit scares me. The confit process scares me. I stayed away. But it was pretty:
Now, there was one dish on the a la carte menu which Fay (we're on a first name basis as we're mates now- she even reads my reviews) ordered when she visited and waxed lyrical about. Prepare yourself for the words about to appear on your screen. Mashed potato with roasting juices and black truffle. Is this what it sounds like when doves cry? Have you ever seen anything so beautiful? No? Well how's this:
Nothing?
Cold hearted cow!!!
I have decided that if I ever find myself on death row (heh heh...uncomfortable glance), this will be one component of my last meal. If I had the inclination and bank balance to produce this dish myself, I would. But a) I don't and b) I don't. Some things are best left to the professionals. But this was LITERALLY (and I use that word sparingly) heaven on a plate. This was the first time I had black truffle and actually enjoyed it. The taste very delicate. The mash was silky and the juices were just right- just enough to wet the mash, but not so much that it was a soggy mess. Why did I offer to share? Beats me. Won't be making that mistake again.
Then came the roast pork belly with savoury acorn praline, turnip tops and homemade apple vinegar:
But what a beauty...
I was indeed comfortably full a this point, but unless I'm retching at the table, don't you dare not show me the dessert menu! There wasn't really much to look at- it was either cheese (let's not be silly) or barley flour sponge soaked in red tea with Tahitian vanilla cream.
I'm willing to give the desert another chance (there are four other options on the a la carte menu), though I'll have to wait until June, natch as word has spread. Thanks Fay.
Dabbous
39 Whitfield St
London
W1T 2SF
T 0207 323 1544
The restaurant was only a month or so old at the time of booking and perhaps two months old when I visited. Securing a table on the day I wanted, at the time I wanted was pretty easy and straightforward, so imagine my surprise (and glee) when, after visiting, I attempted to book another table, only to find that there were none on the day I wanted for close to three months! Things like this make me happy. Not only because I am always pleased to see a young talented chef doing well in a competitive market such as London, but also because, well, I got there first (cue huge raspberry noise). Very mature.
So what was all the fuss about?
Well the room itself as been described a tinny, empty, noisy, echoey. I didn't find any of these to be particularly true on the day I visited (a Saturday afternoon). The room is a mixture of grey and charcoals, with raw concrete, lots of metal thrown about, and the odd exposed duct for good measure. Not especially warm, but not cold either. Perhaps I was charmed by the staff, who, I have to say were exceptionally pleasant. Like "is there something on my face" pleasant (there wasn't). I expected a bit of pomp. I was disappointed (in a good way).
As I waited for my companion, I pretended to peruse the menu. I don't know why, as I'd studied it IN DEPTH in the days leading up to my visit, because that's how sad I am. But, as I said before, nothing like a bit of menu porn...even in public.
So here's the breakdown. There's the set lunch menu (above) where diners have a choice of three or four courses (@ £21 or £24), with two options for each. Dishes are described as 'small', so we decided it was best to go for the four courses. At an extra £3, it made sense.
As I embarrassingly salivated over the 'small plates' (they weren't that small) being delivered to my fellow diners, my appetite was whetted with a small bowl of plump olives and the most beautifully presented fresh, warm bread which came in a brown bag, stamped with the date and a side dish of soft butter which could put Echire to shame.
Nothing like freshly baked bread. The smell which wafted out of the bag as I opened it is indescribable.
Following Ms Maschler's lead, I started with the salad of fennel, lemon balm and pickled rose petals:
Can a salad be life-changing? Because I feel like a new woman. Seriously. Pickled rose?! Who knew! I'm not usually a fan of fennel, but here paired with the exceptional dressing and the subtle lemon balm, it was gorgeous. I'm not sure what the salad leaf used was but it gave good crunch and the sweetness of the pickled rose levelled out the sometimes pleasant, sometimes not, bitterness that you can get with salad leaves. It was a small salad, but the portion was perfect. I didn't feel cheated (though I did want more).
My companion had celeriac with muscat grapes, lovage and hazelnuts:
I didn't get any (cuts eyes)...
Next up was grilled monkfish cheeks with virgin rapeseed oil mayonnaise and Jerusalem artichoke.
That mayo was sexy. Too sexy.
Fleshy monkfish, a bit of unidentifiable black stuff- what else can a girl ask for? It was good but not as good as the salad. But in all fairness, it was a life-changing salad.
Seriously though. Sexy.
My friend had the confit organic Glenarm salmon with warm buttermilk and hispi cabbage. The word confit scares me. The confit process scares me. I stayed away. But it was pretty:
Now, there was one dish on the a la carte menu which Fay (we're on a first name basis as we're mates now- she even reads my reviews) ordered when she visited and waxed lyrical about. Prepare yourself for the words about to appear on your screen. Mashed potato with roasting juices and black truffle. Is this what it sounds like when doves cry? Have you ever seen anything so beautiful? No? Well how's this:
Nothing?
Cold hearted cow!!!
I have decided that if I ever find myself on death row (heh heh...uncomfortable glance), this will be one component of my last meal. If I had the inclination and bank balance to produce this dish myself, I would. But a) I don't and b) I don't. Some things are best left to the professionals. But this was LITERALLY (and I use that word sparingly) heaven on a plate. This was the first time I had black truffle and actually enjoyed it. The taste very delicate. The mash was silky and the juices were just right- just enough to wet the mash, but not so much that it was a soggy mess. Why did I offer to share? Beats me. Won't be making that mistake again.
Then came the roast pork belly with savoury acorn praline, turnip tops and homemade apple vinegar:
I liked this one a lot, but the "praline" threw me a little. I think the dish could have done with a touch less, though it was presented in a way that you could push any praline you didn't want aside without it ruining your dish. But an interesting and creative idea.
On the other side of the table, a braised veal breast with toasted wheat and celery and lime was being consumed. Again, I NEVER GOT A BITE (I hope she's reading this), so I can't tell you what it tasted like... ; )
I was indeed comfortably full a this point, but unless I'm retching at the table, don't you dare not show me the dessert menu! There wasn't really much to look at- it was either cheese (let's not be silly) or barley flour sponge soaked in red tea with Tahitian vanilla cream.
Hmmmm...meh. A bit of an anti-climax. The cream could have been sweeter. Perhaps an ice cream may have better though the sponge was quite delicate and I guess cream was used so as not to overpower it. The weird Cath Kidston-esque bowl baffled me too.
Oh well, you can't win them all.
So out of five courses, two reached dizzying heights (the fennel salad and mash with truffle), one was 85% there (pork belly with acorn praline), one was 95% there (monkfish cheeks -I deducted 5% as I still can't figure out what the black stuff was and I don't feel like it added anything) and one curveball (the dessert)
which I didn't hate, but didn't enjoy.
I'm willing to give the desert another chance (there are four other options on the a la carte menu), though I'll have to wait until June, natch as word has spread. Thanks Fay.
Dabbous
39 Whitfield St
London
W1T 2SF
T 0207 323 1544