Tag Archives: food

Martinis, Marathons and Getting Gingered Up

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"The Most Beautiful Marathon in the World"

“The World’s Most Beautiful Marathon”

“To believe this story you must believe that the human race be one joyous family, working together, laughing together, achieving the impossible. Last Sunday, in one of the most trouble-stricken cities in the world, 11,532 men and women from 40 countries in the world, assisted by over a million black, white and yellow people, laughed, cheered and suffered during the greatest folk festival the world has seen”

Olympic champion Chris Brasher wrote these words after running the New York City marathon in 1979.  He went on to found the London Marathon, the biggest marathon in the world.

Endurance runners are a bunch of weirdos who volunteer to undergo serious pain for hours.  I’m one of them.  I figure it’s a sort of karmic suffering, to offset the martinis I drink every evening. Once an oddity, marathons are now a cause for city-wide celebrations wherever they are held.  The outrage caused by the attack on the Boston marathon was felt not just by Bostonians and Americans but by runners around the world.

Thoughts of outrage were far from my mind as I lined up with 10,000 other pain junkies on a chilly morning in Cape Town.  We were running the Two Ocean’s Ultra Marathon – a gorgeous 35 mile (56k) trot from the Indian Ocean to the Atlantic. The race covers a hilly coastal route which snakes around the Cape of Good Hope. It is arguably one of the most beautiful races in the world and has long been on my bucket list.  My support team included mum, sis, brother in law, 5 year old nephew and a group of friends including an African Queen, a party hostess with a van (great for lying down in after the race) and Voldemort, the German masseuse.

Marathoners in Africa face unique challenges.  Last year a runner was hurt by rock throwing baboons.  The South Africans are a tough lot.  While most of them run in takkies (South African slang for sneakers or trainers), I came across a bunch of barefoot runners.  They weren’t some hunter gatherer types from the bush either, but slightly overweight middle class white people…

Runners greet pain like an old friend.  We wait for him to cross the road, meeting him halfway.  He runs alongside us, sometimes in the background, but always there.  He mocks us as our legs start cramping.  Six hours later I beat him and went out for a martini.

Il Leone Mastrantonio

Il Leone Mastrantonio

Pre race I focused on carb loading. After the race, my mind was on martinis.  For carb loading I visited two stand-out Italian restaurants in Cape Town –  Societi Bistro and Il Leone Mastrantonio.  Of the two Societi is a lighter, more modern interpretation of Italian cuisine, while Il Leone is more traditional. Off Orange Street in the Gardens district the Societi Bistro has a simple yet modern Italian menu with an emphasis on fresh ingredients.  The homemade spaghetti with truffle oil was delicious as was a simple salad of roasted figs and fior di latte (fresh buffalo mozzarella).

Il Leone Mastrantonio is in the district known as De Waterkant (say it with a straight face).  Il Leone is the grande dame of Italian restaurants in Cape Town.  It is pretty straightforward Italian fare served in a traditional, smartish, yet family friendly atmosphere.  The home made ravioli and rib of beef was the perfect pre race dinner.

Gorgeous red lacquered bar at Tjing Tjing

Gorgeous red lacquered bar at Tjing Tjing

The Cape Town Jazz festival kicked off after the ultra marathon and I hung out for some cool tunes and cocktails at the rooftop bar at Tjing Tjing on Longmarket Street.  Longmarket is a street favoured by students; lined with bars, backpacker hotels and massage parlours.  Three floors above street level, Tjing Tjing is an Asian inspired rooftop oasis, with inventive cocktails made from behind a shiny red lacquered bar.

Ginger is the new sexy ingredient in cocktails.  The term “gingering up” (or sexing up) came from the old gypsy habit of inserting ginger up a horse’s arse to make it appear frisky and alert while being inspected for sale.  The Ginger Ninja at the Tjing Tjing bar had vodka, grenadine, pineapple juice, bitters, ginger and lime.  The pineapple added sweetness, but the kick came from the ginger, offset by orangey grenadine flavours. There was no horsing about here – this is a nicely made drink.

The Jelly Baby was made with vanilla vodka, Cointreau, pomegranate juice, lemon juice and yes, jelly babies.  There was a candy like sweetness to the drink, offset by the tartness of the lemon juice.  It is an improbable sounding drink, but it grows on you.  If you are a girl.

Stunning Presentation of a Ginseng and Ginger Martini at the Pot Luck Club

Stunning Presentation of a Ginger & Ginseng Martini at the Pot Luck Club

The highlight of my culinary and cocktail tour of Cape Town was the Pot Luck Club at the Old Biscuit Mill in the Woodstock district.  Built at the top of a grain silo that serviced the former biscuit mill, the Pot Luck Club is a superb Asian fusion restaurant with stunning views.  There was more ginger in the cocktails here.  I had a Sake Cocktail with ginger, lemon grass and passion fruit.  This was a very successful blending of flavours, with the lemon grass and passion fruit combining to add a hint of bitterness, while the ginger left a nice after burn in the throat.

The Ginger & Ginseng martini is a stunning looking cocktail, the liquid made cloudy with ginger, served in an antique goblet with a  garnish of preserved ginger.  The ginger overwhelmed the ginseng however, making for a spicy cocktail lacking in complexity.

Sake, Campari, Watermelon.

Sake Compressed Watermelon with Blood Orange Sorbet and Bitter Campari Jellies at the Pot Luck Club

The big hit of the night was an alcoholic dessert.  Watermelon is infused with sake and then compressed until it turns jelly-like in consistency.  It is accompanied by blood orange sorbet and bitter Campari jellies.  This is a bitter dessert that looks a bit like a living thing and tastes divine.

South Africa is home to several great road races.  Apart from the Two Ocean’s there is the Comrade’s 56 mile (90k) race between Durban and Pietermaritzburg.  This is the world’s oldest and largest ultramarathon race.  I politely declined the offer to run in place of a friend in this year’s race.  Perhaps next year…

Other

A big thank you to Kensington Place, my favourite boutique hotel in Cape Town.  Austen Johnson and his team took care of all my marathon prep including a cooked breakfast delivered to my room at 3am, plus carb snacks for the race.  Meeting points for my support crew were carefully mapped out and taxis arranged.  It is a hotel I go back to often!

Margaret Thatcher and the Sewer Ditch

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Cold War Warriors. Perfect Hair.

Cold War Warriors. Perfect Hair.

While my preferred martini is made with vodka, I mixed a gin martini and raised a glass in memory of Margaret Thatcher last week.  She and her late husband Denis were fond of the stuff. Once confronted by the press about whether he had a drinking problem, Denis famously responded, “yes, I have a problem, there never seems to be enough of the stuff!”

When the time comes to meet my maker I’d like to meet him at my suite at the Ritz, as Margaret Thatcher did. The history of the Ritz Hotel, from a bankrupt shell sold for just £2.75 million (About US$ 4.2m) in 1975, to its grandeur today is in some ways a reflection of the country pre and post Thatcher. In the 1970’s Britain was the “sick man of Europe,” on life support from the IMF and reduced to three days of electricity a week. Maggie kept the lights on and they have shone ever brighter.

A conviction politician, Thatcher was divisive. Most great leaders are. Apparently people who had well paid union jobs in failing industries supported by public money have never forgiven her for putting them out of work. I don’t know where they live, but I’m told that it’s far away from London and that they are now planning to secede or something.

With Ronald Reagan, she was in the frontline of a movement that defeated communism and forever consigned socialism to the dustbin of history. The only left wing governments left in the world today are a smattering of irrelevant banana republics and France, which is on a fast boat to irrelevancy. France does have good wine and beautiful women, so we’ll go in and rescue them as we do every so often.  A few months ago my local betting shop was offering odds on which remaining left wing dictator would last longer – Chavez or Castro. Castro won, but gets no cigar.

Upstairs at the Rotary Bar & Diner. Ask not what your country can do for you. Ask what's for lunch.

Upstairs at the Rotary Bar & Diner. Ask not what your country can do for you. Ask what’s for lunch.

While Britain wrestles with how to recognize Thatcher (a bunch of left wing vegan types still can’t forgive her for getting it right), people like me realise that we only moved here from the US because of the Britain she created. I was having a liquid lunch with Lois Lane, the tallest woman in aviation and another US transplant. We were in Shoreditch, the former wasteland of Soersditch (literally Sewer Ditch) a once shitty part of town now ascendant thanks to the impact of the City of London (a once fading colonial financial hub re-imagined as a global powerhouse by Thatcher) and Silicon Roundabout, a high tech magnet for entrepreneurs (who flourished once the government reduced taxes and got out of the way). Shoreditch is now hipster central, aflood with creative types and techno uber geeks who are the latter day Supermen.

Good loooking drinks. The Adonis and

Good loooking drinks. The Adonis and the Devil behind

The Rotary Bar and Diner and the member’s only Rotary Room is technically a “pop up” operating under a ten month license. Brought to you by the folks from Milk & Honey it is one of the most lavish temporary establishments I’ve seen. Upstairs is a casual bar and diner with sharing tables. Accessed through an insalubrious outside stairwell, the Rotary Room downstairs is all 1970s low lit glamour replete with a tin ceiling, formica tables, and cozy booths. Lois Lane was instantly at home commenting that the décor reminded her of a cross between a Playboy bachelor pad circa 1970 and the living room of the Brady Bunch. There’s a straightforward food menu, divided into pig, fish and beef. There’s nothing for the vegetarians though pigs, fish and cattle are usually vegetarian. The main event here though are the cocktails, which are Latin American influenced. There’s even a decent selection of single village Mezcal.

The louche lounge decor in the Rotary Room

Louche decor in the Rotary Room

As with other establishments in the Milk & Honey franchise, the cocktails are well balanced and tasty. The El Diablo is a long drink made with tequila, cassis, ginger and lime. Instead of using commercial ginger beer, the bartender sends ginger through a centrifuge. The resulting drink packs a serious ginger punch with additional ginger oils adding a sparkle.

The Adonis cocktail is made with dry sherry, red vermouth and orange bitters. Created in 1886 to celebrate the success of a Broadway show, it is surprisingly dry and aromatic. The dry, nutty flavour of the sherry, the fullness in the mouth of the Martini & Rossi red vermouth and a slightly bitter aftertaste makes it a perfect aperitif.

We had a good value Chilean un-oaked Chardonnay. I could have stayed with Lois and drunk cocktails all afternoon, but had a plane to catch and a marathon to run.

Lois you are great all on your own

Cocktails with Lois – another Iron Lady, albeit one with a soft spot for men in coloured underclothes

Many of today’s hipsters weren’t born when Thatcher was in her handbag-wielding prime. However, they are old enough to drink. I will be with some of them on Wednesday and we shall raise a glass together. Rest in Peace.

Death becomes Chavez

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Death was a smart career move for Hugo Chavez. The problem for most dictators, even “democratically elected” ones, is not knowing when to go. So like Mugabe, Castro, Gaddafi, Assad and others, they overstay their welcome and become villains. Chavez on the other hand had the good sense to leave before the whole thing blew up in his face. Like Elvis he will be remembered fondly. Give it some time and he’ll probably grow sideburns and be sighted at a Burger King with Elvis. Viva la revolucion!
A little less conversation, a little more action. A little more wine, a little less talk?

A little less conversation, a little more action. A little more wine, a little less talk?

I figured I should celebrate the life of Chavez at a Venezuelan restaurant in London, but couldn’t find one. There is apparently one in some place called Crystal Palace, but I don’t know where that is. It’s probably not safe to go there. So I looked for other dictator food in London. The problem I discovered, is that modern dictatorships are pretty barren places for foodies.

Most nasties rule over oil rich kingdoms whose food seems to consist of some variant of ground chick peas and kebabs. Booze is usually banned and the water is imported. It’s a cuisine best left to impecunious college students. Another hotspot for dictators is Africa. I don’t get the point of becoming an African dictator – the countries are mostly dirt poor to begin with, so where’s the fun in becoming overlord? I didn’t feel like eating UN food rations either, so decided to keep looking for better dictator cuisine.

Spain is a late comer to democracy having being a dictatorship till 1975. Generalissimo Franco was properly nasty, although he did make the trains run on time which is a very hard thing to do in Southern Europe. Spain has good food and wine and was once Venezuela’s colonial master – it was an appropriate choice of cuisine with which to commemorate Comrade Hugo.  I joined Mini Me and the Irish Cyclist at Camino Cruz del Rey (literally the path to the cross of the king) in the Regent’s Quarter, in King’s Cross.  It’s not the most promising part of town to look for food and wine, but Camino and Bar Pepito, it’s sibling sherry bar across a courtyard, are a unique find.

The bar at Camino Cruz de Rey

The bar at Camino Cruz de Rey

This is a sprawling restaurant encompassing two decent sized rooms, the tiny sherry bar across the courtyard and lots of outdoor tables connecting the two.  In the main restaurant we sat under a glass dome in a casual light filled room with rough wooden tables, leather banquettes, a zinc topped bar with low stools and plain grey flooring punctuated with splashes of colour from traditional Moorish tiles.

Bar Pepito serves fifteen different sherries from a changing menu – all available by the glass.  The sherry here is a far cry from the ghastly tipple your incontinent aunt got pissed on.  This is the good stuff ranging from  fino, which is dry, crisp and pale; manzanilla, briny with a sharpness that hits you in the back of the throat; to darker richer styles like the Oloroso “antique” Fernando de Castilla which is incredible value at £7 (US $10) for a glass of 20 year old wine.

We ordered several rounds of dry sherry which is perfect as an aperitif, cleansing the palate and awakening the taste buds.  The more compex, sweeter styles are perfect with a cigar after the meal.  Camino has a good range of Spanish wines available by the  glass, carafe and bottle.  The serving sizes are well adapted to tapas and sharing, allowing the table to match the wine to the food and to personal preference.  We had the Artesa Tinto Organica 2010, an organic rioja/tempranillo which was easy drinking with characteristic ripe plum and cherry flavours.

Tapas is the food order of the day here.  We tasted a range encompassing chorizo, black pudding, padrone peppers (mild, deep fried peppers in salt – a personal favourite),  tortilla, squid ink flavoured black rice and deep fried baby squid.  This is not haute cuisine – it is simple, rustic fare and Camino does it well.  We had wonderful service from our Argentinian waitress, including an in depth explanation of why she had the words “just take a deep breath” tatooed on her bosom.  If you must get a tattoo, pick a phrase in a language you have a decent handle on…

Over more sherry we pondered whether we knew of any teetotallers we liked.  Hugo Chavez was a teetotaller.  By definition teetotallers are humourless individuals who get upset when other people are having a good time.   We raised a glass to good times.   Joder la revolucion!

A Little More Satisfactioning

There are a surprising number of dictators out there.  Here’s a list.  Their food isn’t always bad but you do have to pick your way carefully.  Here’s a selection of London’s best dictator cuisine:

China – Visiting Chinese friends claim that Barshu has the best Sichuan cooking in London.  The spices will leave you deliriously numb.  The dim sum at Royal China regularly features amongst the best Chinese meals in London.  For authentic Cantonese barbecued duck, served by authentic rude Cantonese waiters, go to Fours Seasons on Queensway.  Take away is recommended.

Cuba - Floridita.  Florida is where all the good Cubans live.  Floridita is a celebration of the place that was Cuba.  Live music and good food slightly spoiled by the bridge and tunnel clientele.  Check out the Garden Room at the Lanesborough Hotel for a good selection of pre-Castro cigars.

Iran - Alounak (Bayswater and Olympia).  My Iranian friends rave about this inexpensive BYOB restaurant.  The ovens (which appear to burn the restaurants down at regular intervals) churn out wonderful breads and grilled meats.

Russia – Novikov.  Okay it’s actually Italian and Asian cuisine but it’s run by Russians and you have to be an oligarch to afford to eat here.

Vietnam – Vietnamese cuisine is much more than pho (beef soup) and Cay Tre Soho teases out the subtle nuances.

For more reviews of Camino Cruz del Rey check out Rate My Bistro and London Chow.  Not everyone likes Camino and the reviews at Trip Advisor document some pretty bad experiences.  I’d go back.

Camino on Urbanspoon

Square Meal

The Lion, the Witch, and the Drinks They Found in a Wardrobe

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Poverty fascinates the middle classes. Writers and artists seek to interpret and chronicle it. Liberals ritualise it to connect with their inner bleeding heartedness. Legions of cute young things would have nothing to do if NGOs didn’t exist to save the wretched from themselves (and their governments).

Poverty and the slums of Victorian England have a peculiar fascination, both as a sociological commentary on the industrial revolution and for their particularly rich literary chronicling by Charles Dickens, Wilkie Collins, Arthur Conan Doyle and others. In London where the winds blow predominantly from the west, the factories were located in the poor east end. Today, the eastern parts of London remain ghastly, although fashionable amongst the young who don’t know any better, and starving artists who can’t afford any better. It’s not a bad place to find a drink, because most people who live there need one.

Stylish Pantone Card Drinks List. Each QR codesconnects to a YouTube clip describing the drink

Stylish Pantone Card Drinks List at Callooh Callay. Each QR code connects to a YouTube clip describing the drink.

I wandered through the streets of East London recently in the gathering gloom, searching for a bar named Callooh Callay. A couple of older queens leered at me, looking like a pair of pedarastic Anglican bishops who’d been locked up in a distillery all night. I was glad to locate my drinking companion the Zebra Striped Gourmand, a man who makes his own bitters and butchers his own meat.   A handy friend to have if you ever need to dismember someone and dissolve them in alcohol…

Callooh Callay is an exclamation of joy from Lewis Carroll’s nonsensical rhyme Jabberwocky. Literature and intoxicants are well known bedfellows. Earnest Hemingway and Ian Fleming were mostly sozzled or pleasantly on their way there when they wrote their best works. Lewis Carroll’s Alice in Wonderland is a delightfully lucid acid trip.

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At Callooh Callay one steps into a dark room decorated with lunatic flair.  There are gramophones in the window bays, wacky lampshades and a large antique wardrobe in the back of the room.  The toilets are lined with cassette tapes.  The crowd is uber-hip, full of the aforementioned artists and young people who inhabit the neighborhood.  I ordered the Ale of Two Cities, a drink consisting of feijova vodka (feijova is also called pineapple guava and tastes like a combination of the two), Punt e Mes (a brownish Italian vermouth with a bitter flavor), fresh lime and apple juices, Angostura bitters and malt syrup (made from malted barley).  That’s a lot going on in a glass.  It is served in a beer mug and bizarrely tastes like ale with honey and lime tasting notes.  It’s a pleasant drink – the ale illusion even leaves a bit of creamy head on your upper lip.

For our next drink we stepped through the wardrobe at the end of the room.  Yes, this is the bar’s big party trick. On the other side was not the land of Narnia but another bar with even more bonkers décor.  Two bathtubs converted into sofas face each other.  A giant overstuffed candy striped armchair sits under a metal palm tree.  One expects the Mad Hatter to be holding court.  We ordered a round of Peresphone, a cocktail made of tequila, Punt e Mes and Mozart black chocolate liqueur.  Named after the wife of Hades this is a drink that has sweet lavender and vanilla notes with a wicked chilli kick at the the end.

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There is a third room, the member’s only Jub Jub bar which hosts a different bartender each week and seats just ten.  The Zebra Striped Gourmand is naturally a member.  Calooh Calay has a reputation for superb cocktails and a truly exemplary collection of alcohol.  We tasted some superb rums including a Santa Teresa (Venezuelan, rich and complex) and a 12 year old Eldorado (Guyanian demerrera rum with rich molasses flavours).  These are fine rums to be drunk neat or on the rocks.  There is a food menu to soak up the alcohol.  The fare is straightforward (burgers, fish cakes, hot dogs), but tasty.

If you fancy a walk on the wild side, visit Callooh Callay.  The literary pretensions may put some people off, but the drinks will have you galumphing back, chortling in joy!

Calloh Callay on Urbanspoon

Square Meal

Go Ask Alice

A place like Callooh Callay lends itself to blogging.  The  Cocktail Geek covers the Jub Jub bar in more detail.  If you are moved to read Lewis Carroll’s poem Jabberwocky you’ll find it here.  Jefferson Airplane’s psychedelic 1967 anthem White Rabbit celebrates Lewis Carroll with the lyric “When the men on the chessboard get up / And tell you where to go / And you’ve just had some kind of mushroom / And your mind is moving low / Go ask Alice, I think she’ll know.”  There’s a beautifully atmospheric video clip of them performing here featuring Grace Slick in her contralto prime.

Vodka Infused Kitty

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Muscle wrapped in metal. There isn't a single bad angle to the Shelby Cobra

Muscle wrapped in metal. There isn’t a single bad angle to the Shelby Cobra

I used to worry about the environment until I realised that switching to long life lightbulbs was pointless as long as nations kept dropping uranium out of the sky.  If I must leave a large carbon footprint I vowed to have fun doing so.  Laying down long tracks of burnt rubber on asphalt is fun.  Doing so in an iconic Shelby Cobra along one of the world’s most spectacular driving roads, Chapman’s Peak Drive in South Africa, is automotive nirvana.

Chapman’s Peak Drive is a toll road from Hout Bay to Noordhoek on the way to the Cape of Good Hope.  It consists of nine kilometres and 114 curves hugging the near vertical face of the mountain.  I had spectacular views of the Atlantic on my right as the bellow of 5 litres of pure V8 power echoed off the mountain face.  The massive tyres screamed in protest and scrambled for grip as I hung on to the steering for dear life, my face split by a huge grin!

Chapman's Peak Drive. Perhaps the most beautiful marine drive in the world.

Chapman’s Peak Drive. Perhaps the most beautiful marine drive in the world.

The Shelby Cobra was the brainchild of American racing driver Carroll Shelby who bolted on a powerful American Ford engine to the pretty but underpowered British AC Ace sports car in 1962.  This fine example of Anglo American cooperation resulted in one of the most beautiful cars ever built.  Original cars now cost upwards of $500,000 (£315,000) but Shelby subsequently licensed production to several manufacturers, including Superformance Cars of South Africa who continue building Cobras.

Dean at Cape Cobra Hire is a friendly Brit who used to work on Eddie Jordan’s Formula One race team.  He described the car as “a four wheel Harley Davidson”.  He’s right.  You carefully step over side mounted exhausts to enter the car (you’ll burn if you touch them).  Stick your arm out the door and you can feel the heat rising from the exhausts.  The horn on my car was broken but it didn’t matter.  Small children cry and dog’s run away when they hear the car’s basso rumble.   There is no roof.  When it rains you get wet.  Who cares when you are having this much fun.

On the way to Chapman’s Peak I pulled over for coffee at The Grand on the strip in Camp’s Bay where Capetonians come to play.  The verandah is the perfect place to watch the beautiful people.  The Grand has a single uber decadent bedroom with 24 hour butler service and what it claims is the world’s largest mini bar. Parking touts eagerly waved the Cobra in.  Despite its muscular stance the Cobra is suprisingly easy to thread through traffic, being far narrower than most modern sports cars.  It also helps that you can clearly see all four corners of the car from the driver’s seat.  It’s practical then for city use…

Chef Franck Dangereaux's philosophy

Chef Franck Dangereaux’s philosophy

At the behest of my running buddy and neighbour in London I stopped for lunch at the Food Barn in Noerdhook.  This modest thatched roofed restaurant set in what was once a farm store, is the most talked about bistro in Capetown.  Cannes born chef Franck Dangereux creates a fusion of Provencal, Moroccan, Middle Eastern and Pan Asian elements – yet sources all his ingredients locally.  Dangereux trained at Moulin de Mougins in Cannes with Roger Verge.  Alain Ducasse also once trained there.  Dangereux worked at two 3 Michelin starred restaurants in Paris before eventually moving to Cape Town.

The food at his restaurant is quintessential haute cuisine, served in the most laid back environment.  The prawn beignets and cheese fritter with tomato macaroon was a mash up of flavours at once familiar but foreign in their combination.  I’d never eaten a tomato macaroon and wouldn’t have believed it would taste anything but strange.  It was delightful.  As was the waitress, who thoughtfully gifted me a box of the said macaroons as I was leaving.  The deconstructed bouillabaisse with local line fish, calamari and prawns, served with a rouille sauce and cheese croutons was sinfully rich.  The cheese croutons added just a hint of crunchy sharpness.

Franck's food. Prawn beignets and cheese fritter with tomato macaroon at the Food Barn

Franck’s food. Prawn beignets and cheese fritter with tomato macaroon at the Food Barn

Dangereaux pairs all his dishes with local wines.  If like me you’ve tired of run of the mill, highly acidic Sauvignon Blancs (the equivalent of paying rent on a bar stool these days), try the South Africans.  Porcupine Ridge, Buitenverwachting, Iona Sophie Terblanche, Robertson and Jordan all make superb Sauvignon Blancs full of that pungent, grassy, leafy aroma, with the quintessential acidity of the grape offset by a soft finish in the mouth.  Majestic Wine has a good selection of South African wines in London while Astor Wines and Spirits is the place to go in New York City.

After a punishing day of hard driving on heart stoppingly beautiful roads, I met the race car driving oenophile in Cape Town for a casual dinner at HQ.  HQ is located in Heritage Square (circa 1771).  In keeping with the global trend towards single food menus HQ serves steak and nothing else, apart from salad and chips.  This is a popular casual restaurant with a nice buzzy vibe.  With so few options on the menu the waiter still managed to mix up our order (with or without gravy can’t be that hard to remember) when he wasn’t forgetting about us altogether.  I’ve had way better chips in places that don’t claim to specialise in them.  Someone please introduce these guys to double and triple cooked chips.  The food and service was erratic.

The saving grace of HQ is the cocktail list.  It’s original and eclectic.  The Spider Bite; jalapeño infused vodka, gomme and fresh lime was spicy and seriously hot. It was served in a martini glass with salt on the rim.  The VIP (Vodka Infused Pussy) was a cocktail of citron vodka muddled with lots of limes, cucumber and mint, charged with Pussy.  The refreshing citrus notes were reminiscent of a caipirinha.

Can this drink make it without word play?

Can this brand make it without word play?

So what’s with the Pussy? Pussy is a British made all-natural energy drink.  It’s citrus tasting although some might find it somewhat tasteless.  Its tagline is “the drink is pure, it’s your mind that’s the problem.” I’m not sure the world really needs another energy drink.

More Ways to Go

If two wheels is more your thing, down the road from Cape Cobra Hire on Buintengraght is Royal Enfield Cape Town where you can rent an authentic Indian made bone shaker.  There are more environmentally friendly ways to travel the Chapman’s Peak Drive.  Bike it as part of the Cape Argus Classic 110K (62 mile) bike race or run it at the Two Ocean’s Ultra Marathon,  a 56k (35 miles) trot from the Indian Ocean to the Atlantic.

A dominatrix feeds champagne to a horny dog.

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Happy New Year!  I hope this finds you rested and rearing to go.  The two weeks of sloth leading up to the first day of work in the New Year is a dead time in London.  It is also a great time to eat at hot restaurants without the usual scrum to get in.  That was my theory anyway as I made my way to Bubbledogs on Charlotte Street in London, late on a wet Saturday afternoon.  Charlotte Street has now gone all genteel.  Time was when its most famous resident was Theresa Berkley, an early 19th century dominatrix who ran a brothel specialising in flagellation.  Up the road from the old whorehouse is Bubbledogs, which serves hotdogs with champagne.  That’s all they serve.  No starters, no coffee, no dessert, no whips, no cuffs, no Shades of Grey. There are veggie hot dogs for vegetarians, but you really shouldn’t come to a hot dog restaurant if you are a fruit and nut type.

Bubbledogs is one of the hottest restaurants in London and annoyingly takes no reservations (except for parties of 6 or more).  Having a number of tables free for walk-ins is a good policy (as practised by the Wolseley and its sister restaurants – see my review “Slums, Prostitutes and French People in London“).  Otherwise you have the absurd situation where the next available reservation may be six months away (as at Dabbous – read my review “My Dinner with Nigella“).  A blanket  no reservations policy however, appears designed to keep out the over 40 crowd.  No one over 40 has the time or the patience to stand in line to eat a hot dog.  So the restaurant is full of pretty young things who don’t mind standing in line for an hour and a half, while cheerily updating their Facebook status (“still waiting in line….”).

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Looking into Bubbledogs

I got into Bubbledogs at my fourth attempt, having refused to stand in line on principle.  Once I was with cost centre number one – we ended up having a nice meal at the Charlotte Street Hotel instead.  On my second attempt I was with the Irish Media Baron.  We ended up at Kikuchi – easily one of the best and most authentic Japanese sushi restaurants in town – although with no atmosphere and bonkers service. On my third attempt I was with the diplomat.  We repaired to Brasserie Zedel – with room for 270 covers you can always find a table there.

So who in their right mind would pair hot dogs with champagne?  A hot dog is a simple pleasure, best eaten at a baseball game.  Champagne, especially the hard to find artisanal and vintage champagnes served at Bubbledogs is a higher, more refined pleasure.  John Stuart Mill famously postulated that simple pleasures are for ordinary people and Americans, while higher pleasures could only be appreciated by highly educated and creative people.    Bubbledogs can be viewed as a social experiment in bringing together the lower and higher pleasures for the benefit of the Facebooking proletariat.  Or something like that.

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The food menu at Bubbledogs

The experiment doesn’t work.  The hot dogs are good, especially the beef variety (they come in beef, pork or veggie) which is nicely spiced and bursts out of its skin on the first bite. There is an intriguing variety of flavours including a Korean version – the K Dawg (with Kimchi, lettuce and red bean paste), the 4th of July (a hot dog wrapped in bacon and  served with BBQ sauce and coleslaw) and the Horny Dog (a proper corn dog, the first I’ve tasted outside the USA – a hot dog wrapped in corn breading). They are interesting flavours and they are good.  The husband and wife team behind Bubbledogs, James Knappett and Sandia Chang have impeccable credentials.  His last gig was at the double Michelin starred Ledbury restaurant in Notting Hill.  She came from Noma in Copenhagen,  ”the world’s best restaurant” .  They know a thing or two about combining flavours.  Even the side dishes are good.  I loved the sweet potato fries and tater tots, last seen on a school lunch menu in America.  Tater tots are small, cylindric hash browns; grated potatoes, breaded and deep fried .

The champagnes are tasty.  They are all sourced from small artisanal producers and include a decent smattering of recent vintages.  The champagnes are reasonably priced from £35-£98.  Five varieties are available by the glass including the Laherte Freres, Blanc de Blancs which is a rare non dose champagne (meaning no added sugar – even the best houses add sugar to their champagnes to keep the flavour consistent).  The most popular champagne being ordered was also the cheapest, a rosé at £6 a glass (£35 a bottle) which was a cheerful bubbly reminiscent of a cava.  Therein lies the rub.  The cheapest bubbly had enough of a proletarian easy drinking vibe to work with a hot dog.  Frankly, the delicate flavour of a nice champagne (a high pleasure) is simply overwhelmed by the phoar wallop of base flavours in a hot dog (a low pleasure).   I’d stick to beer, of which Bubbledogs has a nice handpicked selection.

The Jose Dog with salsa, avocado, sour cream and pickled jalepenos

The Jose Dog with salsa, avocado, sour cream and pickled jalepenos

There is also a small but well put together selection of cocktails. I liked my Quince Sour, an interesting take on a whisky sour with dark rum replacing the whisky and quince (apparently the original forbidden fruit of the garden of Eden) adding a nice sharpness to a surprisingly light cocktail.

Don’t get me wrong, I like this place.  Its fun and buzzy – a single small room with wooden floors, and walls of distressed wood and exposed brick.  One sits on closely packed high stools at small tables or at the bar.  The staff is friendly and chatty.  Bubbledogs has the unmistakable ambiance of a successful restaurant – the excited chatter of people tasting unfamiliar flavours, the conviviality of friends toasting each other with champagne.  The problem is I wanted to stay and savour more champagne and more cocktails, but it’s hard to linger when you know there is a crowd standing outside waiting for you to leave.

The Quince Sour with a side of sweet potato fries

The Quince Sour with a side of sweet potato fries

Bubbledogs is successful despite its core premise, mixing hot dogs with champagne, being off-base.  Fortunately both the hot dogs and the champagne are good enough that people seem to overlook the fact that they don’t really go together. I’d go back, but I’d wait for the novelty value of the place to die down so I could relax and work my way through the drinkables part of the menu.

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More Canine Wisdom

Technically, the restaurant is called Bubbledogs &.  The & is a chef’s table at the back where James Knappett keeps his hand in haute cuisine and serves a tasting menu with nary a hot dog in sight.  Reservations required.  A Rather Unusual Chinaman has a good review of the tasting menu experience.

Cocktails, Clerics and Reincarnation

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20121116-145918.jpgThe wire frame Buddha at Buddha Bar London.

Organised religion is a mass of contradictions. Ostensibly about peace, love and brotherhood, it is also a justification for war, killing thy neighbour and stoning people you don’t like. The priesthood reflects the contradictions. Religious clerics are a mixed bag of the selfless, the charming, the boringly righteous, the political opportunists, the odd child molester, and people wanted for questioning by the CIA.

Growing up in Sri Lanka we practised a cafeteria style approach to Buddhism, picking and choosing the bits we liked and blithely ignoring the inconvenient. We dislike killing animals (it is banned), but rather like eating meat. So the country has Muslim and Christian butchers. Goats run scared because unlike pork or beef, its meat is not banned by any religion and can be happily served to Hindu, Jewish and Muslim guests.

20121116-134634.jpgA case in point of a cleric getting hooked up with the wrong crowd. Abu Hamza my favourite Mad Mullah, now a guest of the CIA.

Christians are great – they eat everything, unless they are from California in which case you have to convince them that everything is organic. I did make a fish curry recently for some Californian friends who worried that the fish I chose was not organically raised. One woman worried that it may have been contaminated by swimming in sewage infected waters. I told her not to worry, pointing out that sewage is organic. Somebody kicked me under the table.

I was gazing at a rather interesting wire frame image of the Buddha whilst sipping a cocktail at the newly reincarnated Buddha Bar in London. Naming a bar after a religious figure is a risky proposition. Pick the wrong religion and you could have a fatwa on your hands. Fortunately, Buddhists are a patient lot – they’ll probably wait and get you in the next life.

The Buddha Bar concept was kicked off in Paris in 1996 by Claude Challe, a one time rabbinical scholar turned hairdresser. It offers a seductive mix of cutting edge world/ambient music, creative cocktails, Asian fusion cuisine and beautiful people. Some years later the concept was franchised and went global. The London branch was a victim of bad timing and lasted just 18 months before closing down in May 2010.

20121116-150644.jpgA Japanese whisky based Manhattan and the Ying Coco Yang.

I have a soft spot for the old Buddha Bar in London, having spent a fun evening there with some accountant friends (yup, they do let their hair down sometimes, if they have any) on its last night. Once we left, others from their firm came in at dawn, bolted the doors and shut the place down! Back then it was located on the embankment, a few doors down from the Walkabout, where antipodeans go to drink cheap beer and meet cheaper dates. The reincarnated Buddha Bar is in a posher location in Knightsbridge across from the luxury development at One Hyde Park, where the apartments retail for between £20 and £140 million (US $ 31m-190m).

While the location is posh, Buddhists would argue that it has bad karma. Many restaurants have come and gone from this venue, the Chicago Rib Shack being the last.

There is a bar upstairs and a large restaurant space in the basement for 240 covers. It is an open space decorated with a vaguely Asian motif. The aforesaid Buddha wireframe dominates, throwing interesting shadows. The floors and ceilings are in dark wood, while the chairs are upholstered in oriental fabrics. Asian woodcuts separate the dining areas.

I like the room, but it felt like a transplant from another era. I guess this happens with reincarnation sometimes. What was edgy once seems slightly dated and cliched now. The music is still good, but not that special anymore. The cocktails have intriguing Asian ingredients, but others do the same thing now. The nearby Mandarin Bar at the Mandarin Oriental hotel does Asian inspired cocktails rather well.

The menu at the Buddha Bar is pricey – £28 (US $50) on average for a main course reflects a pre-Lehman pricing strategy. £75 (US $ 120) for the cheapest bottle of sake is plain bonkers. Thankfully the wine list is more accessible.

20121116-150355.jpgDelicious but expensive food.

The Buddha Bar cocktails are good and not unreasonably priced at £10.50. I tried a Ying Coco Yang. Made with coconut cream, fresh lime juice and chilli infused gin, it was an interesting take on a piña colada with the chilli punch nicely counterbalancing the sweetness of the coconut cream. The So Be @ Miami was light and refreshing, made with fresh mint, grapefruit, vanilla sugar and teo infused gin. It was reminiscent of a longer, lighter version of a mojito made with gin instead of rum, with some citrus highlights. It looked fabulous! The Manhattan made with Japanese whisky, umeshu and plum bitters was less successful. I had an intriguing version of this drink at Bugsy’s in Prague a few weeks ago (see 40 minutes, a large cigar and an Arabian adulteress) The proportions and the ingredients in the Buddha Bar version didn’t quite work – the whisky flavours dominated and burned without being mellowed by the other ingredients.

The Buddha Bar had been open less than a week when I visited. There were rough edges still being worked out, service being one of them. It’s in a good location for a post retail cocktail; Harvey Nichols and Harrod’s are around the corner. The music is good, as are the cocktails. Can it avoid the life and death samsara cycle that affected other restaurants at this address? I don’t know. Perhaps it’s time for a prayer.

More Grooviness

The Buddha Bar in Paris is still a fine venue. For a different take on the ambient sound and fine cocktails experience I like the Hotel Costes in Paris. Apart from a groovy sound track you have the advantage of being able to roll into bed should the cocktailing leave you unsteady on your feet. The rooms at the Costes are very nice.

Buddha-Bar London on Urbanspoon

An African Odyssey: Dog’s Bollocks and Bitch’s Tits

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I had recently arrived from America and was tasked with interviewing some UK customers by my employer.  One such customer accused the company of being arrogant.  Leaning forward, he angrily stuck a finger in my face and asked, “why do you guys think that you are the dog’s bollocks”? I had no idea.  In fact I had no idea what “dog’s bollocks” meant.  I remember carefully writing down the words “dog’s bollocks” in my notebook and promising the customer that I will get back to him on the bollocks issue…

Dog’s bollocks means dog’s testicles, but in British slang usage it means very good, or the top of the pile.  Really.  Think bee’s knees or cat’s pyjamas. On the other hand when the word bollocks is used by itself, it means rubbish.  Or nuts.

A Lotus Eclat guards the entrance to Dog’s Bollocks

Dog’s can famously lick their own testicles.  Through the ages men have been fascinated and/or jealous of this canine capability.  I never did get around to getting Nigel Wood’s personal perspective on testicles as we chatted inside his restaurant, The Dog’s Bollocks in Cape Town, South Africa.  This is currently the hottest ticket in Cape Town, a burger restaurant in a garage/drive way.  The October 2012 UK edition of Esquire magazine lists it as one of the top ten attractions in Cape Town. They take no reservations and open from “5 to 50″.  Nigel starts serving at 5PM and stops when he’s served 50 burgers. After that he pushes the tables back to make room in the garage for his one-eyed 1970′s Lotus Eclat.  (The Eclat has a vacuum seal that keeps the pop-up headlamps shut.  If the car is left parked for a while, the vacuum leaks and one headlight pops open. Cute.)

The entrance to the restaurant is literally the garage door.  The tin roof has a few translucent plastic panels to let in light.  The long narrow space is broken up by a grill where the famous burgers are cooked.  Tucked away to a side is a branch of Deluxe Coffee Works, the artisanal coffee roasters in Cape Town.  A tiny motorbike repair shop also shares the space.  Customers of the coffee shop regularly ride their scooters and motorbikes into the store.  Its all uber trendy and slightly nuts.

Bikes and coffee next door at Deluxe Coffee Works

The garage roof leaks when it rains.  It was raining hard when I visited with Capetonian friends including the Cupcake (she’s sweet and she bakes well) and the Princess Monkey (she’s titled and she’s nuts).  The sloping garage floor was soon awash with rain water.  Nigel kindly showed us to a “good table” where we’d get less wet.  A waitress hurriedly unplugged a floor lamp.  Eventually someone donned galoshes and splashed across to fire up the grill.  The restaurant is BYOB except for wine.  Nigel bottles his own red and white in tubes and sells them under the U-Tube label (by Ukuva iAfrica).  It’s big in Poland, apparently. At Dog’s Bollocks the wine is served in conventional bottles at R55 (GB£4 or US$6 ).  I ordered a bottle of red.  Nigel gave me a bottle and said “here’s the wine, there are some glasses, here’s a corkscrew.”   The service is delightfully quirky, as is everything else about the place.   The restaurant serves different menus through the day – and is called different names at different times.  At breakfast the restaurant is called Mucky Mary’s Hubcap.  At lunch time it’s called The Bitch’s Tits.  Hubcaps, tits and testicles –  only in Africa!

Nigel preps his burgers

The burgers are amazing.  They are served on enormous, light as air rolls with what must be half a head of lettuce, onions, tomato and pickle.  The secret is in the home made sauces.  Mexican chocolate mole, pepperberry and blue cheese, and prego (a spicy Portuguese sauce) are standouts.  The table went quiet as we greedily tucked in.  I had the prego sauce and felt the spice gradually build up on my taste buds as beads of sweat broke out on my forehead.  The burgers are so large that once you man-handle them into your mouth you don’t want the hassle of putting them back down and figuring out how to pick them up again.  We inhaled our food.

Dog’s Bollocks is a symbol of how South Africa would like to see itself; multicultural, irreverent and re-inventing itself as it goes along.  Yet roofs and more leak all over the country.  I can’t tell whether we are seeing the birthing pains of a great African state or witnessing the last days of empire.  Either way it’s a fascinating place to visit.  Go! It’s the dog’s bollocks.

Further Reading and Drinking

The hot cocktail bar of the moment in Cape Town is The Orphanage.  An unfortunate choice of name perhaps but it is on Orphan Street and a share of profits do go to the orphanage up the road.  My favourite place for a post prandial drink however, is the bar at the Mount Nelson hotel where old world colonial glamour meets some of the most hospitable bar staff I’ve met.  The Old Fashioned’s and the Hendrick’s Cucumber Martinis they make are particularly good.

Blogger My Love Affair with Cape Town wishes to keep Dog’s Bollocks a secret so it wouldn’t get too crowded.  A common lament.  Sheila Allen talks about her love affair with burgers in Cape Town Alive.

Cock Shots and the Candidates: The US Election Issue

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The US election season is upon us. Americans get to choose between pachyderms and donkeys. The rest of the world looks on with a fascination normally reserved for train wrecks.

On the left we have a chap who can make a great stump speech, but has spent four years proving that he can’t manage his way out of a paper bag. On the right we have an enormously competent manager who can’t figure out what he stands for and might be hewn from wood.

Democrats by and large have a Calvinist view of the world. They buy dolls and kitchen sets for their boys, so they grow up free of gender stereotypes…and sexually confused.  They wear sandals with socks, hug trees and like holding hands and singing Kumbaya. They adore European style welfare and find it sooo romantic that French unions go on strike every summer. They secretly wish America was more like France, but where the citizenry washed more often and the neighbours weren’t German.

Republicans are at heart Hobbesian. Their boys play Cowboys and Indians, preferably with real guns. They like tea parties, god and golf. They know that people join unions because they have shitty jobs that should be outsourced to some poor foreign country, so foreigners wouldn’t come to America looking for shitty work and join unions. What they really want is a sepia toned version of America with Clint Eastwood as sheriff.

Damien Hirst’s Cock and Bull dominates the interior of the Tramshed

I was drinking a Cock Shot (Absolut vodka, chicken consommé, spices) and wondering if I’d buy one for either presidential candidate. Romney probably would be too embarrassed to say cock and doesn’t drink anyway. Obama would raise my taxes (somewhere along the way I picked up a US passport and now can’t get rid of it without paying off the Inland Revenue Service) so I probably can’t afford to buy him a drink. The Cock Shot was served in a frozen glass, which felt good on a hot summer’s day.  That was about the only good thing going for it.  The Cock Shot tasted awful, slightly salty and vaguely slimy on the tongue.  My female lunch companion drew the obvious analogy. I couldn’t decide whether to Ditch that Bitch (cassis and sparkling wine) or to buy her a Twitter & Bisted (pink grapefruit, Campari, sherry and sparkling wine).

In front of me was a plinth on which stood a whole cow with a rooster on it’s back – encased in a glass case filled with formaldehyde.  Damien Hirst is responsible for the rooster/cow vitrine (appropriately named Cock and Bull) and all the artwork at Tramshed, the new Mark Hix restaurant in Shoreditch.  The artwork signals the only two things you can order at the restaurant – chicken or steak.

The Tramshed occupies a visually stunning space.  Built in 1905 as a electricity generating station for trams, it is a light, high ceilinged space with a bar on one side and a gallery at the back.  There are original two-toned tiled walls and mosaic flooring.  It is industrial chic where the soaring scale of the space helps it escape looking like a 1990’s cliché.  I liked the feel of the place.  The crowd was a mix of hipsters from Shoreditch and pin striped bankers. They all seemed to get along.

One needs to be reminded from time to time that chicken, that most ordinary of birds, can taste exceptional when cooked well.  The bird is presented upside down impaled on a stake with whole clawed feet scratching the air.  Vegetarians look away.  Actually, don’t bother coming here if you are a vegetarian – or if you don’t like steak or chicken for that matter.  There really isn’t anything else to eat, although you can apparently order something that cows might like to eat, off menu. The sirloin is nicely marbled and aged for 28 days in a Himalayan salt chamber (don’t ask).  It’s delicious, but good, expensive steak is not hard to find in London these days.  Order to share in 250g, 500g, 750g or 1kg portions.  The tomato salad I ordered on the side was amazing.  The gnarly organic tomatoes filled the mouth with moist bursts of flavor with chunks of cheddar adding a sharp counterpoint.

A cute touch on the cocktail menu

While the Cock Shot was disappointing the cocktail list is actually rather good.  At first sip the aforementioned Twitter & Bisted (pink grapefruit, Campari, sherry and sparkling wine) tasted like a fizzy cosmopolitan.  Then the nice layered complexity of a well made cocktail came in, with a hint of dry bitterness from the Campari and the smoky aftertaste of the sherry.  The Temperley Sour (Somerset apple brandy, lemon juice, Bramley apple juice and egg white) has a sinuously silky texture, with the sweetness of the apple nicely offset by the tartness of the lemon juice.  There’s a good selection of boutique beers and a fun selection of new world wines.  Battery hen cages (the insides of which the free range chicken on the menu has never seen, although it probably doesn’t care, now that you just ate it) line the entrance, filled with off sales of wine.  There is a bar menu and a well priced take away menu.

Mark Hix has opened seven restaurants in the last four years.  They all have well sourced ingredients, a fresh take on British food and inventive cocktails.  They’re all doing well. His friend Damien Hirst has collaborated on the artwork.  Both friends are having good recessions.  Hirst has done particularly well by preserving various species (including some nasty looking sharks) in formaldehyde, where we can look at them, but they can do us no harm.  Perhaps its time he tried out his art form on some politicians…

Further Reading

London Girl About Town discusses the nearby White Cube Gallery in her review of Tramshed.  The blogger Fifteen Pickles and a Purple Plum has some mouth watering images of the food at Tramshed.  Whether it is bisteca alla Florentina or a bife de chorizo,  there are many variants of fine steak.  Here’s a good discussion on what makes a good steak restaurant from Forbes Traveller.  If you are fond of lists this top ten list of the world’s best steak houses covers the big ones from Peter Luger’s in Brooklyn to Cabana Las Lilas in Buenos Aires.  For steak in London I also like Hawksmoor, particularly their Seven Dials location in Covent Garden.  Goodman provides a properly masculine steak experience and the Argentinian steak at Gaucho is consistently good – particularly at their rather delectable waterfront location in Richmond. Moo!

HIX at The Tramshed on Urbanspoon

Square Meal

The Porn Issue: Fifty Shades of Martinis

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The Olympics are over. It’s been rather good – typically quirky, occasionally brilliant and thoroughly British. The underground transport system, the world’s oldest, didn’t fall over. The weather wasn’t awful. The TV coverage was full of Brits bringing home medals. What you didn’t see on TV however, is what went on in the Olympic Village. Take over ten thousand body beautiful, incredibly fit, highly charged men and women and put them together, far from home. Have them abstain from sex before competition as part of their training regime. Then pull the plug. Distribute 150,000 condoms, stir in an atmosphere of celebration and you get one randy party! There was a serious amount of very athletic sex going on in Stratford.

“That” Durex condom advertisement for the London Olympics

Sex was on my mind as I read the Fifty Shades of Grey trilogy I had been sent to review. Unless you’ve been on another planet it’s hard to ignore the publishing phenomenon of British writer E.L.James’s “mommy porn”. The books are on best seller lists on both sides of the Atlantic. Film rights have been negotiated for all three books. Over five million copies have been sold in the UK alone – making it a bigger seller than the Harry Potter books. Boy wizards are no match for horny women. Publishing Houses are hailing the birth of a new genre of literature and introducing dozens of smutty new women authors to our bookshelves.

Fifty Shades of Grey is porn for women, written (rather poorly) by a woman. Apparently most porn is poorly written, so no one is unduly worried about the quality of the writing.

The book is about a pretty young thing who is finishing college in America. She meets a young, devilishly handsome billionaire. She is a virgin; they apparently still make them at American universities. He has an interesting side line in S&M and does things with whips and handcuffs that would make a virgin blush. Before long our heroine is cuffed, whipped and deflowered. Her inner goddess (apparently every woman has one) responds by turning joyful somersaults. They have regular, slightly kinky sex for two more volumes with a few jealous females and bad guys showing up every few chapters.

The gentlemen who run the world’s publishing houses have woken up to the fact that women are sexual creatures. The question is, are women merely comfortable being seen reading porn on public transport or are there now whips and handcuffs in every woman’s bedside drawer, nestling amongst the usual battery operated emergency kit? Are women beginning to think about sex every 3 seconds the way men do?

Who knows what lies beyond the door marked “come”?

To investigate, I took a posse of women friends to a Soho sex shop. The neon signs promised adult video, peep shows and private dances. Above the door a sign said “come”. As one reviewer put it, it’s the kind of place where you expect to see sad looking men with stained shoes leaving furtively, clutching at brown paper bags full of bouncing boobs. You want to shout at them, “Yo mate, it’s 2012, go try the Internet. Full of boobs!”

Friendly young things in fishnets, feathered trilbies and not much else, greeted us warmly. My women friends were nervous. Downstairs in the dimly lit basement, the decor was surreal. There were upturned pianos, children’s furniture hanging from the ceiling, taxidermy, curtained off alcoves and what might have been voodoo dolls. The sound system was pumping out a sexy mix of old school rock and salsa.

We were at La Bodega Negra, the Mexican restaurant whose party trick involves the aforementioned entrance (Bodega Negra also has a cafe next door with a more conventional entrance). It is the brainchild of “cultural engineer” Serge Becker who also created La Esquina in New York City. The women visibly relaxed as we ordered our first round of margaritas. The bar stocks eight good brands of tequila in 22 variants. Tapatio and Herradura Seleccion Suprema occupy the top shelf. There is a short wine list and a selection of very good Mexican beers.

The slightly disturbing decor at La Bodega Negra

Five of the eight cocktails on the menu are mezcal/tequila based. The standard margaritas were watery and frankly disappointing. We sent them back and ordered a few more cocktails. The Pepino, which is twist on a margarita with added cucumber water and jalapeno had a decent spicy kick. The ancho mojito substitutes mezcal/tequila for rum and tonic water for soda. It was complex and tasty – a successful reinterpretation of the standard mojito.

Some of the food was very good. Other dishes were passable. The spicy yellow fin tuna ceviche had mouth filling flavour. Crab tostaditas were piled high with flavourful fresh crab meat, adding coriander, mango and lime as garnish. The BBQ octopus el negro was briny and tender – a standout dish. Seared steak tacos and the chorizo/squash/corn taco didn’t do much for me. The steak had little flavour and the chorizo didn’t add the punch to the squash/corn combination that it should have. The pork belly with mezcal and salsa verde brought welcome touches of new flavour to what has become a cliched restaurant dish.

La Bodega Negra is a fun “occasion” restaurant. The service is superb, the music is good and the atmosphere is hip and on trend. It doesn’t have the best Mexican food and drink in London – I still prefer the tiny Crazy Homies in Notting Hill. What La Bodega Negra does offer is a fun night out, at least for two hours before they turn your table over…

By the time we were ready to leave my female friends had forgotten about the sex shop entrance. They thought it was confusing and didn’t really want the whole edgy sex thing. They’d all read Fifty Shades but it was all firmly shelved under fantasy. We wandered across to Ronnie Scott’s for some old school jazz and a bottle of champagne. This was much more their style. Mine too.

Further Reading

La Bodega Negra gets mixed reviews from Bloggers.  A Rather Unusual Chinaman and Lay My Table have interesting perspectives.  A sexy alternative for dinner in London is the Playboy Club – yes, it’s back, complete with bunny girls! You don’t have to be a member to use the restaurant.  If you are in the mood for something naughtier, check out the Evening Standard’s guide to London’s sexiest places for illicit liaisons. The Evening Standard also has guides to the sexiest places for exhibitionists, fetishists and….intellectuals.  Have fun!

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Square Meal