The Sunday Times, 18 November
AA Gill at London’s Hibiscus

“Just one last question,” the interviewer from Australian Gourmet Traveller said. “Which joint, cut or offal of a human person would be your choicest portion?” I recoiled in shock and horror, the sour gorge rising in my gullet. How vile. How barbaric. I haven’t actually ever heard anyone say “choicest portion” out loud. It was repellent. There isn’t a restaurant critic alive who hasn’t, at some time or other, given the waitress the once-over and thought, I’d rather eat your peppered jerky than anything on the menu. Eating people may be wrong, but it is interesting. I told the chap from Oz Tucker Walkabout that I’d always fancied the fat oyster muscle of the thumb. I reckon a dish of stewed thumbs diabolo would be diverting, or breaded, fried thumb Holstein, with a fried egg, anchovy and a little cucumber salad on the side.

The Independent, 18 November
Terry Durack at Hibiscus

The hottest tables in town were those at the recent opening night of Hibiscus, as the two-Michelin-star Shropshire favourite made its London debut. So who were the oligarchs, A-listers and Mayfair fat cats who nabbed the 45 seats? Strangely, all but two were taken by regulars. That the restaurant's former clientele were prepared to travel 140 miles from Ludlow to London to pay their respects says more about this restaurant than any paparazzi line-up, fridge full of foie gras or cellar of first-growths. Ludlow's loyal devotion to Claude Bosi's cooking becomes understandable the moment a pretty little bowl of light-as-air Parmesan gougères hits the table. Here, in one bite, is the wine-drinker's perfect nibble: a golden little puffball that melts gracefully into cheesy nothingness in the mouth. Immediately, I'm thinking: Ludlow, you can't have him back.
Hibiscus - Independent review in full >>

The Observer, 18 November
Jay Rayner at Texture, London

There is a famous restaurant just outside Nairobi called Carnivore. Can you guess what it serves? That's right. It's not exactly the place for a bowl of hummus. At Carnivore they serve zebra and antelope, wildebeest, and anything else with a pulse. The clue is in the restaurant's name. And so to a new restaurant called Texture. It's a tricky word, texture. All food has it, even the slipperiest bits, so putting that above the door is risky. There is the temptation to examine every dish simply on the grounds of how it feels in the mouth rather than how it tastes. If it doesn't feel interesting it can be dismissed as a failure. It's not that the texture of the food here isn't interesting; some of it really is. But that isn't the thing you will recall as you leave. Its appeal is much broader.
Texture - Observer review in full >>

Jan Moir, Are You Ready to Order?
Alain Ducasse at the Dorchester, London

The water at restaurant Alain Ducasse at the Dorchester is £6 a bottle. The bread isn’t hot, and is a little bit stale. Some of the tables are terrible, including one that’s like dining inside a wooden cupboard and another behind a waiter station with a panorama of staff bottoms as they collate dirty glasses before whisking them away. They insist the fish is wild, but I have deep sea doubts about a woolly old wodge of tasteless halibut – although it is served with a good caper sauce, featuring tiny, pinhead capers with a pungency that belies their size
Ready to Order review in full >>

The Telegraph, 16 November
Mark Palmer at the Foundry in Leeds

The morning after having dinner at The Foundry, it was reported that Chelsy Davy had parted company with Prince Harry and was struggling to cope in Leeds as a postgraduate student. Apparently, she doesn't fancy the night life (although she's said to be a mainstay on the Thursday "Tequila Night" in a dive called The Warehouse), isn't impressed by her digs in Headingley, misses her friends back in Cape Town and loathes the weather. Pull yourself together, girl, and then get down to Saw Mill Yard and introduce yourself to big Phil Richardson. If he and his restaurant don't put a smile back on that sulky little face of yours and restore some faith in the city, then you're either spoilt rotten or a lost cause. Take it from me, if you make a mate of Phil, you'll make a friend of Leeds for life.
The Foundry - Telegraph review in full >>