The Guardian, 8 November
Matthew Norman visits Dragon Castle, London SE17
So distressingly seldom do we hear from Jim Davidson these days that catching his two penn'orth on Clive Anderson's recent Radio 4 dissection of political correctness came as a relief. Dear old "nick nick" was making the point that the good-natured name-calling of ethnic minorities is healthier than stamping it out by fatwas handed down by the PC-gone-mad mullahs of the leftie liberal elite. This pressure-cooker theory of comedy might carry more force if posited by people other than Jim. Hitler, for instance, who wrote in Mein Kampf that he disapproved of Jewish jokes because people struggle to hate what makes them laugh. I was particularly thrilled to come across Jim, having just been to Dragon Castle.
Dragon Castle – review in full>>
The Independent, 8 November
Tracey Macleod visits The Hambrough, Ventnor, Isle of Wight
Success for chefs, as for movie stars, is all about making the right choices. There's a prescribed path to the top, and picking the right projects can separate the greats, such as Robert de Niro, from the should-have-beens, like Mickey Rourke. For chefs, the route to greatness involves years of nose-to-the-chopping-board training with a Marco, Roux or Blanc, then a solid stint in the provinces, where your exceptional work gets you noticed. Next you move to the capital to take over a famous restaurant, before finally getting your name over the door. Being blazingly good at what you do is, of course, a given (which is where the comparison with movie stars falls apart: I give you the mystery that is Orlando Bloom). Robert Thompson is a gifted young chef who has regularly been tipped for De Niro-style greatness. Still only 26, he was talent-spotted early at Lincolnshire's Winteringham Fields, rising through the ranks to become head chef and winning his first Michelin star at the preposterous age of 23.
The Hambrough – review in full>>
The Times, 8 November
Giles Coren visits York & Albany, London NW1
York & Albany stood derelict at the top of Parkway in Camden Town for God knows how many years. Probably 20. Possibly more. And during that time I passed it by car, bicycle or bus almost every day. Until about five years ago, its total, abject, wrist-slitting dereliction was underlined by trompe l’oeils painted on the dirty walls which were designed to give the (not altogether convincing) impression that men and women in Victorian dress (top hats, parasols, twirling canes, etc) were inside, drinking and laughing and horsing around as only the Victorians could. Now, my guess is that those silhouettes were not painted on there in the Victorian era itself, since there were enough people around in those days with real top hats and parasols that one did not need to paint silhouettes of them on one’s walls.
York & Albany – review in full>>
The Observer, 9 November
Jay Rayner visits Tierra Brindisa, London WC1
Eating at restaurants run by the Spanish produce suppliers Brindisa makes me do very odd things. Like count the number of anchovies on a plate. Or look up euro-to-sterling exchange rates. It brings out the obsessive compulsive in me, which is never attractive. Here's why: a few years back, when the first of their restaurants, Tapas Brindisa, opened in London's Borough I wondered out loud whether a vertical company like theirs, which imported the produce direct from Spain, ought not to be able to pass on the obvious savings to diners in their restaurants. I focused on a plate of nine very good salted anchovy fillets sold for £8. This seemed to me like excessive profiteering. It resulted in a long to and fro with one of the company's founders - read argument - which ended with us having to agree to disagree. She felt it was reasonable that the restaurants sourced their ingredients from the wholesalers at the market rate even though they owned those wholesalers. I was unconvinced.
Tierra Brindisa – review in full>>
areyoureadytoorder.com
Jan Moir visits The Crooked Billet, Henley-on-Thames, Oxfordshire
Kate Winslet is not happy. Shortly after telling Vanity Fair magazine that she still feels like the ‘fat kid’, the actress has attacked suggestions that her body was airbrushed to improve her shape for a glamorous cover shot for the magazine. No! Yes! Kate is furious at claims that her body has been airbrushed. The only tweaks, she insists, were the usual adjustments in skin shades for glamour shots. Can there really be a skin shade called Flawless Silvery Peach? I’ve only ever seen that before when holding a scallop up to a cloche on a brilliant spring day at the Waterside Inn last year. I digress. But only slightly. For Winslet’s eternal attempts to promote herself as just one of the girls have a bearing on this week’s review. When she married her first husband, the happy couple held their sausage and mash reception here, at The Crooked Billet. This intriguing place buried deep in a fold of the Oxfordshire countryside was in sharp contrast to the usual prinked Hollywood nuptials; Winslet’s decision, I must say, showed common sense and good taste.
The Crooked Billet – review in full>>